THE  ADVENTURES 
OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

BY  FRANK  L.  PACKARD 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
JIMMY  DALE 


By  FRANK  L.  PACKARD 


AUTHOR  OF 

"•Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man,"  Etc. 


A.   L.   BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangements  with  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1917, 
GEORGE  H.   DOR  AN   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1914,    1915,    BY    STREET    &    SMITH 
PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES   OF   AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE:    THE  MAN  IN  THE  CASE 


CHAPTER 


FAGS 


I.  THE  GRAY  SEAL 

II.  BY  PROXY 31 

III.  THE  MOTHER  LODE    .......*••  61 

IV.  THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE 89 

V.  THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN        ....  118 

VI.  DEVIL'S  WORK 143 

VII.  THE  THIEF 173 

VIII.    THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP 202 

IX.    Two  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE 230 

X.    THE  ALIBI 258 

XI.    THE  STOOL-PIGEON 286 

PART  TWO:    THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  CASE 

I.    BELOW  THE  DEAD  LIKE 315 

II.  THE  CALL  TO  ARMS 324 

III.  THE  CRIME  CLUB 333 

IV.  THE  INNOCENT  BYSTANDER     ........  345 

V.    ON  GUARD 354 

VI.  THE  TRAP 361 

VII.  THE  "Houn"        .............  372 

VIII.  THE  TOCSIN 382 

IX.    THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY        .      .  .      .«      •      .      .389 

X.    SILVER  MAG 403 

XL    THE  MAGPIK 412 


• 


vi  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

XII.  JOHN  JOHANSSON — FOUR-TWO-EIGHT 422 

XIII.  THE  ONLY  WAY .434 

XIV.  OUT  OF  THE  DARKNESS 443 

XV.  RETRIBUTION 450 

XVI.    "DEATH  TO  THE  GRAY  SEAL!"       ...  ,    460 


PART  ONE:    THE  MAN  IN  THE  CASE 


PART  ONE:  THE  MAN  IN  THE  CASE 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  GRAY  SEAL 

AMONG  New  York's  fashionable  and  ultra-exclusive 
clubs,  the  St.  James  stood  an  acknowledged  leader- 
more  men,  perhaps,  cast  an  envious  eye  at  its  portals,  of 
modest  and  unassuming  taste,  as  they  passed  by  on  Fifth 
Avenue,  than  they  did  at  any  other  club  upon  the  long  list 
that  the  city  boasts.  True,  there  were  more  expensive  clubs 
upon  whose  membership  roll  scintillated  more  stars  of  New 
York's  social  set,  but  the  St.  James  was  distinctive.  It 
guaranteed  a  man,  so  to  speak — that  is,  it  guaranteed  a 
man  to  be  innately  a  gentleman.  It  required  money,  it  is 
true,  to  keep  up  one's  membership,  but  there  were  many 
members  who  were  not  wealthy,  as  wealth  is  measured 
nowadays — there  were  many,  even,  who  were  pressed  some« 
times  to  meet  their  dues  and  their  house  accounts,  but  the 
accounts  were  invariably  promptly  paid.  No  man,  once  in, 
could  ever  afford,  or  ever  had  the  desire,  to  resign  from  the 
St.  James  Club.  Its  membership  was  cosmopolitan;  men 
of  every  walk  in  life  passed  in  and  out  of  its  doors,  profes 
sional  men  and  business  men,  physicians,  artists,  merchants, 
authors,  engineers,  each  stamped  with  the  "  hall  mark  "  of 
the  St.  James,  an  innate  gentleman.  To  receive  a  two  weeks' 
out-of-town  visitor's  card  to  the  St.  James  was  something 
to  speak  about,  and  men  from  Chicago,  St.  Louis,  or  San 
Francisco  spoke  of  it  with  a  sort  of  holier-than-thou  air 
to  fellow  members  of  their  own  exclusive  clubs,  at  home 
again. 

9 


10      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Is  there  any  doubt  that  Jimmie  Dale  was  a  gentleman — an 
innate  gentleman  ?  Jimmie  Dale's  father  had  been  a  member 
of  the  St.  James  Club,  and  one  of  the  largest  safe  manu 
facturers  of  the  United  States,  a  prosperous,  wealthy  man, 
and  at  Jimmie  Dale's  birth  he  had  proposed  his  son's  name 
for  membership.  It  took  some  time  to  get  into  the  St. 
James;  there  was  a  long  waiting  list  that  neither  money, 
influence,  nor  pull  could  alter  by  so  much  as  one  iota. 
Men  proposed  their  sons'  names  for  membership  when  they 
were  born  as  religiously  as  they  entered  them  upon  the 
city's  birth  register.  At  twenty-one  Jimmie  Dale  was  elected 
to  membership ;  and,  incidentally,  that  same  year,  graduated 
from  Harvard.  It  was  Mr.  Dale's  desire  that  his  son  should 
enter  the  business  and  learn  it  from  the  ground  up,  and 
Jimmie  Dale,  for  four  years  thereafter,  had  followed  his 
father's  wishes.  Then  his  father  died.  Jimmie  Dale  had 
leanings  toward  more  artistic  pursuits  than  business.  He 
was  credited  with  sketching  a  little,  writing  a  little ;  and  he 
was  credited  with  having  received  a  very  snug  amount  from 
the  combine  to  which  he  sold  out  his  safe-manufacturing 
interests.  He  lived  a  bachelor  life — his  mother  had  been 
dead  many  years — in  the  house  that  his  father  had  left  him 
on  Riverside  Drive,  kept  a  car  or  two  and  enough  servants 
to  run  his  menage  smoothly,  and  serve  a  dinner  exquisitely 
when  he  felt  hospitably  inclined. 

Could  there  be  any  doubt  that  Jimmie  Dale  was  innately  a 
gentleman  ? 

It  was  evening,  and  Jimmie  Dale  sat  at  a  small  table  in  the 
corner  of  the  St.  James  Club  dining  room.  Opposite  him  sat 
Herman  Carruthers,  a  young  man  of  his  own  age,  about 
twenty-six,  a  leading  figure  in  the  newspaper  world,  whose 
rise  from  reporter  to  managing  editor  of  the  morning  News- 
Argus  within  the  short  space  of  a  few  years  had  been  almost 
meteoric. 

They  were  at  coffee  and  cigars,  and  Jimmie  Dale  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  his  dark  eyes  fixed  interestedly 
On  his  guest. 

Carruthers,  intently  engaged  in  trimming  his  cigar  ash  OB 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  11 

the  edge  of  the  Limoges  china  saucer  of  his  coffee  set,  looked 
up  with  an  abrupt  laugh. 

"  No ;  I  wouldn't  care  to  go  on  record  as  being  an  advocate 
of  crime,"  he  said  whimsically ;  "  that  would  never  do.  But 
I  don't  mind  admitting  quite  privately  that  it's  been  a  positive 
regret  to  me  that  he  has  gone." 

"Made  too  good  'copy'  to  lose,  I  suppose?"  suggested 
Jimmie  Dale  quizzically.  "  Too  bad,  too,  after  working 
up  a  theatrical  name  like  that  for  him — the  Gray  Seal — 
rather  unique  !  Who  stuck  that  on  him — you  ?  " 

Carruthers  laughed — then,  grown  serious,  leaned  toward 
Jimmie  Dale. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,  Jimmie,  that  you  don't  know 
about  that,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked  incredulously.  "  Why,  up  to 
a  year  ago  the  papers  were  full  of  him." 

"  I  never  read  your  beastly  agony  columns,"  said  Jimmie 
Dale,  with  a  cheery  grin. 

"  Well,"  said  Carruthers,  "  you  must  have  skipped  every 
thing  but  the  stock  reports  then." 

"  Granted,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  So  go  on,  Carruthers, 
and  tell  me  about  him — I  dare  say  I  may  have  heard  of 
him,  since  you  are  so  distressed  about  it,  but  my  memory 
isn't  good  enough  to  contradict  anything  you  may  have  to 
say  about  the  estimable  gentleman,  so  you're  safe." 

Carruthers  reverted  to  the  Limoges  saucer  and  the  tip 
of  his  cigar. 

"  He  was  the  most  puzzling,  bewildering,  delightful  crook 
in  the  annals  of  crime,"  said  Carruthers  reminiscently,  after 
a  moment's  silence.  "  Jimmie,  he  was  the  king-pin  of  them 
all.  Clever  isn't  the  word  for  him,  or  dare-devil  isn't  either. 
I  used  to  think  sometimes  his  motive  was  more  than  half  for 
the  pure  deviltry  of  it,  to  laugh  at  the  police  and  pull  the 
noses  of  the  rest  of  us  that  were  after  him.  I  used  to  dream 
nights  about  those  confounded  gray  seals  of  his — that's  where 
he  got  his  name;  he  left  every  job  he  ever  did  with  a  little 
gray  paper  affair,  fashioned  diamond-shaped,  stuck  some 
where  where  it  would  be  the  first  thing  your  eyes  would 
light  upon  when  you  reached  the  scene,  and " 


12      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Don't  go  so  fast,"  smiled  Jimmie  Dale.  "  I  don't  quit* 
get  the  connection.  What  did  you  have  to  do  with  this— 
er — Gray  Seal  fellow?  Where  do  you  come  in?" 

"  I  ?  I  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  him,"  said  Carruthers 
grimly.  "  I  was  a  reporter  when  he  first  broke  loose,  and^the 
ambition  of  my  life,  after  I  began  really  to  appreciate  what 
he  was,  was  to  get  him — and  I  nearly  did,  half  a  dozen 
times,  only " 

"  Only  you  never  quite  did,  eh  ? "  cut  in  Jimmie  Dale 
slyly.  "  How  near  did  you  get,  old  man  ?  Come  on,  now, 
no  blurring ;  did  the  Gray  Seal  ever  even  recognise  you  as  a 
factor  in  the  hare-and-hound  game  ?  " 

"  You're  flicking  on  the  raw,  Jimmie,"  Carruthers  an 
swered,  with  a  wry  grimace.  "  He  knew  me,  all  right,  con 
found  him !  He  favoured  me  with  several  sarcastic  notes — 
I'll  show  'em  to  you  some  day — explaining  how  I'd  fallen 
down  and  how  I  could  have  got  him  if  I'd  done  some 
thing  else."  Carruthers'  fist  came  suddenly  down  on  the 
table.  "  And  I  would  have  got  him,  too,  if  he  had 
lived." 

"  Lived ! "  ejaculated  Jimmie  Dale.  "  He's  dead, 
then?" 

"  Yes,"  asserted  Carruthers ;  "  he's  dead." 

"  H'm !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  facetiously.  "  I  hope  the  size 
of  the  wreath  you  sent  was  an  adequate  tribute  of  your  ap 
preciation." 

"  I  never  sent  any  wreath,"  returned  Carruthers,  "  for 
the  very  simple  reason  that  I  didn't  know  where  to  send  it,  or 
when  he  died.  I  said  he  was  dead  because  for  over  a  year 
now  he  hasn't  lifted  a  finger." 

"  Rotten  poor  evidence,  even  for  a  newspaper,"  com 
mented  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Why  not  give  him  credit  for  having, 
*ay — reformed?  " 

Carruthers  shook  his  head.  "  You  don't  get  it  at  all, 
Jimmie,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  The  Gray  Seal  wasn't  an 
ordinary  crook — he  was  a  classic.  He  was  an  artist,  and  the 
^rt  of  the  thing  was  in  his  blood.  A  man  like  that  could 
*o  more  stop  than  he  could  stop  breathing — and  live. 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  IS 

dead;  there's  nothing  to  it  but  that — he's  dead.  I'd  bet  a 
year's  salary  on  it." 

"  Another  good  man  gone  wrong,  then,"  said  Jimmie  Dale 
capriciously.  "  I  suppose,  though,  that  at  least  you  dis 
covered  the  '  woman  in  the  case  '  ?  " 

Carruthers  looked  up  quickly,  a  little  startled;  then 
laughed  shortly. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Carruthers.  "  You  kind  of  got  me  for  a 
moment,  that's  all.  That's  the  way  those  infernal  notes 
from  the  Gray  Seal  used  to  end  up :  '  Find  the  lady,  old 
chap ;  and  you'll  get  me.'  He  had  a  damned  patronising 
familiarity  that  would  make  you  squirm." 

"  Poor  old  Carruthers  ! >;  grinned  Jimmie  Dale.  "  You 
did  take  it  to  heart,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  I'd  have  sold  my  soul  to  get  him — and  so  would  you, 
if  you  had  been  in  my  boots,"  said  Carruthers,  biting  nerv 
ously  at  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"  And  been  sorry  for  it  afterward,"  supplied  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Yes,  by  Jove,  you're  right ! "  admitted  Carruthers,  "  I 
suppose  I  should.  I  actually  got  to  love  the  fellow — it  was 
the  game,  really,  that  I  wanted  to  beat." 

"  Well,  and  how  about  this  woman  ?  Keep  on  the  straight 
and  narrow  path,  old  man,"  prodded  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  The  woman  ?  "  Carruthers  smiled.  "  Nothing  doing ! 
I  don't  believe  there  was  one — he  wouldn't  have  been  likely 
to  egg  the  police  and  reporters  on  to  finding  her  if  there  had 
been,  would  he?  It  was  a  blind,  of  course.  He  worked 
alone,  absolutely  alone.  That's  the  secret  of  his  success, 
according  to  my  way  of  thinking.  There  was  never  so 
much  as  an  indication  that  he  had  had  an  accomplice  in 
anything  he  ever  did." 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  travelled  around  the  club's  homelike, 
perfectly  appointed  room.  He  nodded  to  a  fellow  member 
here  and  there,  then  his  eyes  rested  musingly  on  his  guest 
again. 

Carruthers  was  staring  thoughtfully  at  his  coffee  cup. 

"  He  was  the  prince  of  crooks  and  the  father  of  origir 


14      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

nality,"  announced  Carruthers  abruptly,  following  the  pause 
that  had  ensued.  "  Half  the  time  there  wasn't  any  more 
getting  at  the  motive  for  the  curious  things  he  did,  than 
there  was  getting  at  the  Gray  Seal  himself." 

"  Carruthers,"  said  Jimmy  Dale,  with  a  quick  little  nod 
of  approval,  "  you're  positively  interesting  to-night.  But, 
so  far,  you've  been  kind  of  scouting  around  the  outside 
edges  without  getting  into  the  thick  of  it.  Let's  have  some 
of  your  experiences  with  the  Gray  Seal  in  detail ;  they  ought 
to  make  ripping  fine  yarns." 

"  Not  to-night,  Jimmie,"  said  Carruthers ;  "  it  would  take 
too  long."  He  pulled  out  his  watch  mechanically  as  he 
spoke,  glanced  at  it — and  pushed  back  his  chair.  "  Great 
Scott!"  he  exclaimed.  "It's  nearly  half-past  nine.  I'd 
no  idea  we  had  lingered  so  long  over  dinner.  I'll  have  to 
hurry ;  we're  a  morning  paper,  you  know,  Jimmie." 

"  What !  Really !  Is  it  as  late  as  that."  Jimmie  Dale  rose 
from  his  chair  as  Carruthers  stood  up.  "  Well,  if  you 
must " 

"  I  must,"  said  Carruthers,  with  a  laugh. 

"  All  right,  O  slave."  Jimmie  Dale  laughed  back — and 
slipped  his  hand,  a  trick  of  their  old  college  days  together, 
through  Carruthers'  arm  as  they  left  the  room. 

He  accompanied  Carruthers  downstairs  to  the  door  of  the 
club,  and  saw  his  guest  into  a  taxi ;  then  he  returned  inside, 
sauntered  through  the  billiard  room,  and  from  there  into 
one  of  the  cardrooms,  where,  pressed  into  a  game,  he  played 
several  rubbers  of  bridge  before  going  home. 

It  was,  therefore,  well  on  toward  midnight  when  Jimmie 
Dale  arrived  at  his  house  on  Riverside  Drive,  and  was 
admitted  by  an  elderly  manservant. 

"  Hello,  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly.  "  You  still 
up!" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Jason,  who  had  been  valet  to  Jimmie 
Dale's  father  before  him.  "  I  was  going  to  bed,  sir,  at 
about  ten  o'clock,  when  a  messenger  came  with  a  letter 
Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  a  young  lady,  and " 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  15 

"  Jason  " — Jimmie  Dale  flung  out  the  interruption,  sud 
den,  quick,  imperative — "  what  did  she  look  like  ?  " 

"  Why — why,  I  don't  exactly  know  as  I  could  describe  her, 
sir,"  stammered  Jason,  taken  aback.  "  Very  ladylike,  sir, 
in  her  dress  and  appearance,  and  what  I  would  call,  sir, 
a  beautiful  face." 

"  Hair  and  eyes — what  color  ?  "  demanded  Jimmie  Dale 
crisply.  "  Nose,  lips,  chin — what  shape  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  gasped  Jason,  staring  at  his  master,  "  I — • 
I  don't  rightly  know.  I  wouldn't  call  her  fair  or  dark, 
something  between.  I  didn't  take  particular  notice,  and  it 
wasn't  overlight  outside  the  door." 

"  It's  too  bad  you  weren't  a  younger  man,  Jason,"  com 
mented  Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  curious  tinge  of  bitterness  in 
his  voice.  "  I'd  have  given  a  year's  income  for  your  op 
portunity  to-night,  Jason." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jason  helplessly. 

"  Well,  go  on,"  prompted  Jimmie  Dale.  "  You  told  her  I 
wasn't  home,  and  she  said  she  knew  it,  didn't  she?  And 
she  left  the  letter  that  I  was  on  no  account  to  miss  receiving 
when  I  got  back,  though  there  was  no  need  of  telephoning 
me  to  the  club — when  I  returned  would  do,  but  it  was  im 
perative  that  I  should  have  it  then — eh  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord,  sir ! "  ejaculated  Jason,  his  jaw  dropped, 
"  that's  exactly  what  she  did  say." 

"  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  grimly,  "  listen  to  me.  If 
ever  she  comes  here  again,  inveigle  her  in.  If  you  can't  in 
veigle  her,  use  force;  capture  her,  pull  her  in,  do  anything 
— do  anything,  do  you  hear?  Only  don't  let  her  get  away 
from  you  until  I've  come." 

Jason  gazed  at  his  master  {is  though  the  other  had  lost 
his  reason. 

"  Use  force,  sir  ?  "  he  repeated  weakly — and  shook  his 
head.  "  You — you  can't  mean  that,  sir." 

"  Can't  I  ?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  mirthless  smile. 
"  I  mean  every  word  of  it,  Jason — and  if  I  thought  there 
was  the  slightest  chance  of  her  giving  you  the  opportunity, 
I'd  be  more  imperative  still.  As  it  is — where's  the  letter?" 


16      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

w  On  the  table  in  your  studio,  sir,"  said  Jason,  mechani 
cally. 

Jimmie  Dale  started  toward  the  stairs — then  turned  and 
came  back  to  where  Jason,  still  shaking  his  head  heavily, 
had  been  gazing  anxiously  after  his  master.  Jimmie  Dale 
laid  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

"  Jason,"  he  said  kindly,  with  a  swift  change  of  mood, 
"you've  been  a  long  time  in  the  family — first  with  father, 
and  now  with  me.  You'd  do  a  good  deal  for  me,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"  I'd  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,  Master  Jim," 
said  the  old  man  earnestly. 

"  Well,  then,  remember  this,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  slowly, 
looking  into  the  other's  eyes,  "  remember  this — keep  your 
mouth  shut  and  your  eyes  open.  It's  my  fault.  I  should 
have  warned  you  long  ago,  but  I  never  dreamed  that  she 
would  ever  come  here  herself.  There  have  been  times  when 
it  was  practically  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  me  to  know 
\vho  that  woman  is  that  you  saw  to-night.  That's  all, 
Jason.  Now  go  to  bed." 

"  Master  Jim,"  said  the  old  man  simply,  "thank  you,  sir, 
thank  you  for  trusting  me.  I've  dandled  you  on  my  knee 
when  you  were  a  baby,  Master  Jim.  I  don't  know  what 
it's  about,  and  it  isn't  for  me  to  ask.  I  thought,  sir,  that 
maybe  you  were  having  a  little  fun  with  me.  But  I  know 
now,  and  you  can  trust  me,  Master  Jim,  if  she  ever  comes 
again." 

"Thank  you,  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  his  hand  closing 
with  an  appreciative  pressure  on  the  other's  shoulder 
"  Good-night,  Jason." 

Upstairs  on  the  first  landing,  Jimmie  Dale  opened  a  doorv 
closed  and  locked  it  behind  him — and  the  electric  switch 
clicked  under  his  fingers.  A  glow  fell  softly  from  a  cluster 
of  shaded  ceiling  lights.  It  was  a  large  room,  a  very  large 
room,  running  the  entire  depth  of  the  house,  and  the  effect 
of  apparent  disorder  in  the  arrangement  of  its  appointments 
seemed  to  breathe  a  sense  of  charm.  There  were  great 
cozy,  deep,  leather-covered  lounging  chairs,  a  huge,  leather 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  17 

Severed  davenport,  and  an  easel  or  two  with  half -finished 
sketches  upon  them ;  the  walls  were  panelled,  the  panels  of 
exquisite  grain  and  matching ;  in  the  centre  of  the  room  stootf 
a  flat-topped  rosewood  desk;  upon  the  floor  was  a  dark, 
heavy  velvet  rug;  and,  perhaps  most  inviting  of  all,  there 
was  a  great,  old-fashioned  fireplace  at  one  side  of  the  room 

For  an  instant  Jimmie  Dale  remained  quietly  by  the  door, 
as  though  listening.  Six  feet  he  stood,  muscular  in  every 
line  of  his  body,  like  a  well-trained  athlete  with  no  single 
ounce  of  superfluous  fat  about  him — the  grace  and  ease  of 
power  in  his  poise.  His  strong,  clean-shaven  face,  as  the 
light  fell  upon  it  now,  was  serious — a  mood  that  became  him 
well — the  firm  lips  closed,  the  dark,  reliant  eyes  a  little 
narrowed,  a  frown  on  the  broad  forehead,  the  square  jaw 
clamped. 

Then  abruptly  he  walked  across  the  room  to  the  desk, 
picked  up  an  envelope  that  lay  upon  it,  and,  turning  again, 
dropped  into  the  nearest  lounging  chair. 

There  had  been  no  doubt  in  his  mind,  none  to  dispel.  It 
was  precisely  what  he  had  expected  from  almost  the  first 
word  Jason  had  spoken.  It  was  the  same  handwriting,  the 
same  texture  of  paper,  and  there  was  the  same  old  haunt* 
ing,  rare,  indefinable  fragrance  about  it.  Jimmie  Dale's 
hands  turned  the  envelope  now  this  way,  now  that,  as  he 
looked  at  it.  Wonderful  hands  were  Jimmie  Dale's,  with 
long,  slim,  tapering  fingers  whose  sensitive  tips  seemed  now 
is  though  they  were  striving  to  decipher  the  message  within. 

He  laughed  suddenly,  a  little  harshly,  and  tore  open  the 
envelope.  Five  closely  written  sheets  fell  into  his  hand. 
He  read  them  slowly,  critically,  read  them  over  again ;  and 
then,  his  eyes  on  the  rug  at  his  feet,  he  began  to  tear  the 
paper  into  minute  pieces  between  his  fingers,  depositing  the 
pieces,  as  he  tore  them,  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair.  The 
five  sheets  demolished,  his  fingers  dipped  into  the  heap  of 
shreds  on  the  *rm  of  the  chair  and  tore  them  over  and  over 
igain,  tore  them  until  they  were  scarcely  larger  than  bits  of 
confetti,  tore  at  them  absently  and  mechanically,  his  eye* 
•*ver  shifting  from  the  rug  at  his  feet 


18      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Then,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  as  though  rousing 
himself  to  present  reality,  a  curious  smile  flickering  on  his 
lips,  he  brushed  the  pieces  of  paper  into  one  hand,  carried 
them  to  the  empty  fireplace,  laid  them  down  in  a  little  pile, 
and  set  them  aiire.  Lighting  a  cigarette,  he  watched  them 
burn  until  the  last  glow  had  gone  from  the  last  charred 
scrap ;  then  he  crunched  and  scattered  them  with  the  brass- 
handled  fender  brush,  and,  retracing  his  steps  across  the 
room,  flung  back  a  portiere  from  where  it  hung  before  a 
little  alcove,  and  dropped  ou  his  knees  in  front  of  a  round, 
squat,  barrel-shaped  safe — one  of  his  own  design  and  plan 
ning  in  the  years  when  he  had  been  with  his  father. 

His  slim,  sensitive  lingers  played  for  an  instant  among 
the  knobs  and  dials  that  studded  the  door,  guided,  it  seemed 
by  the  sense  of  touch  alone — and  the  door  swung  open. 
Within  was  another  door,  with  locks  and  bolts  as  intricate 
and  massive  as  the  outer  one.  This,  too,  he  opened ;  and 
then  from  the  interior  took  out  a  short,  thick,  rolled-up 
leather  bundle  tied  together  with  thongs.  He  rose  from 
his  knees,  closed  the  safe,  and  drew  the  portiere  across  the 
alcove  again.  With  the  bundle  under  his  arm,  he  glanced 
sharply  around  the  room,  listened  intently,  then,  unlocking 
the  door  that  gave  on  the  hall,  he  switched  off  the  lights 
and  went  to  his  dressing  room,  that  was  on  the  same  floor. 
Here,  divesting  himself  quickly  of  his  dinner  clothes,  he 
selected  a  dark  tweed  suit  with  loose-fitting,  sack  coat  from 
his  wardrobe,  and  began  to  put  it  on. 

Dressed,  all  but  his  coat  and  vest,  he  turned  to  the  leather 
bundle  that  he  had  placed  on  a  table,  untied  the  thongs, 
and  carefully  opened  it  out  to  its  full  length — and  again 
that  curious,  cryptic  smile  tinged  his  lips.  Rolled  the  oppo 
site  away  from  that  in  which  it  had  been  tied  up,  the  leather 
strip  made  a  wide  belt  that  went  on  somewhat  after  the 
fashion  of  a  life  preserver,  the  thongs  being  used  for  shoulder 
straps — a  belt  that,  once  on,  the  vest  would  hide  completely, 
and,  fitting  close,  left  no  telltale  bulge  in  the  outer  garments. 
It  was  not  an  ordinary  belt ;  it  was  full  of  stout-sewn,  up 
right  little  pockets  all  the  way  around,  and  in  the  pocket* 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  19 

grimly  lay  an  array  of  fine,  blued-steel,  highly  tempered 
instruments — a  compact,  powerful  burglar's  kit. 

The  slim,  sensitive  fingers  passed  with  almost  a  caress 
ing  touch  over  the  vicious  little  implements,  and  from  one 
of  the  pockets  extracted  a  thin,  flat  metal  case.  This  Jim- 
mie  Dale  opened,  and  glanced  inside — between  sheets  of  oil 
paper  lay  little  rows  of  gray,  adhesive,  diamond-shaped  seals. 

Jimmie  Dale  snapped  the  case  shut,  returned  it  to  its 
recess,  and  from  another  took  out  a  black  silk  mask.  He 
held  it  up  to  the  light  for  examination. 

"  Pretty  good  shape  after  a  year,"  muttered  Jimmie  Dale, 
replacing  it. 

He  put  on  the  belt,  then  his  vest  and  coat.  From  the 
drawer  of  his  dresser  he  took  an  automatic  revolver  and  an 
electric  flashlight,  slipped  them  into  his  pocket,  and  went 
softly  downstairs.  From  the  hat  stand  he  chose  a  black 
slouch  hat,  pulled  it  well  over  his  eyes — and  left  the  house. 

Jimmie  Dale  walked  down  a  block,  then  hailed  a  bus 
and  mounted  to  the  top.  It  was  late,  and  he  found  himself 
the  only  passenger.  He  inserted  his  dime  in  the  conductor's 
little  resonant-belled  cash  receiver,  and  then  settled  back 
on  the  uncomfortable,  bumping,  cushionless  seat. 

On  rattled  the  bus ;  it  turned  across  town,  passed  the 
Circle,  and  headed  for  Fifth  Avenue — but  Jimmie  Dale, 
to  all  appearances,  was  quite  oblivious  of  its  movements. 

It  was  a  year  since  she  had  written  him.  She!  Jimmie 
Dale  did  not  smile,  his  lips  were  pressed  hard  together. 
Not  a  very  intimate  or  personal  appellation,  that — but  he 
knew  her  by  no  other.  It  was  a  woman,  surely — the  hand 
writing  was  feminine,  the  diction  eminently  so — and  had  she 
not  come  herself  that  night  to  Jason!  He  remembered  the 
last  letter,  apart  from  the  one  to-night,  that  he  had  received 
from  her.  It  was  a  year  ago  now — and  the  letter  had  been 
hardly  more  than  a  note.  The  police  had  worked  them 
selves  into  a  frenzy  over  the  Gray  Seal,  the  papers  had 
grown  absolutely  maudlin — and  she  had  written,  in  he! 
characteristic  way: 


SO      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Things  are  a  little  too  warm,  aren't  they,  Jimmie?  Let'i 
let  them  cool  for  a  year. 

Since  then  until  to-night  he  had  heard  nothing  from  her. 
It  was  a  strange  compact  that  he  had  entered  into — so 
strange  that  it  could  never  have  known,  could  never  know  a 
parallel — unique,  dangerous,  bizarre,  it  was  all  that  and  more. 
It  had  begun  really  through  his  connection  with  his  father's 
business — the  business  of  manufacturing  safes  that  should 
defy  the  cleverest  criminals — when  his  brains,  turned  into 
that  channel,  had  been  pitted  against  the  underworld,  against 
the  methods  of  a  thousand  different  crooks  from  Maine 
to  California,  the  report  of  whose  every  operation  had 
reached  him  in  the  natural  course  of  business,  and  every 
one  of  which  he  had  studied  in  minutest  detail.  It  had  be 
gun  through  that — but  at  the  bottom  of  it  was  his  own 
restless,  adventurous  spirit. 

He  had  meant  to  set  the  police  by  the  ears,  using  his 
gray-seal  device  both  as  an  added  barb  and  that  no  innocent 
bystander  of  the  underworld,  innocent  for  once,  might  be 
involved — he  had  meant  to  laugh  at  them  and  puzzle  them 
to  the  verge  of  madness,  for  in  the  last  analysis  they  would 
find  only  an  abortive  attempt  at  crime — and  he  had  suc 
ceeded.  And  then  he  had  gone  too  far — and  he  had  been 
caught — by  her.  That  string  of  pearls,  which,  to  study 
whose  effect  facetiously,  he  had  so  idiotically  wrapped 
around  his  wrist,  and  which,  so  ironically,  he  had  been  unable 
to  loosen  in  time  and  had  been  forced  to  carry  with  him  in 
his  sudden,  desperate  dash  to  escape  from  Marx's  the  big 
jeweler's,  in  Maiden  Lane,  whose  strong  room  he  had  toyed 
with  one  night,  had  been  the  lever  which,  at  first,  she  had 
held  over  him. 

The  bus  was  on  Fifth  Avenue  now,  and  speeding  rapidly 
down  the  deserted  thoroughfare.  Jimmie  Dale  looked  up 
at  the  lighted  windows  of  the  St.  James  Club  as  they  went 
by,  smiled  whimsically,  and  shifted  in  his  seat,  seeking  a 
more  comfortable  position. 

She  had  caught  him — how  he  did  not   know — he   had 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  Jl 

never  seen  her — did  not  know  who  she  was,  though  time 
and  again  he  had  devoted  all  his  energies  for  months  at  a 
stretch  to  a  solution  of  the  mystery.  The  morning  follow 
ing  the  Maiden  Lane  affair,  indeed,  before  he  had  break 
fasted,  Jason  had  brought  him  the  first  letter  from  her.  It 
had  started  by  detailing  his  every  move  of  the  night  before 
— and  it  had  ended  with  an  ultimatum :  "  The  cleverness, 
the  originality  of  the  Gray  Seal  as  a  crook  lacked  but  one 
thing,"  she  had  naively  written,  "  and  that  one  thing  was 
that  his  crookedness  required  a  leading  string  to  guide  it 
into  channels  that  were  worthy  of  his  genius."  In  a  word, 
she  would  plan  the  coups,  and  he  would  act  at  her  dictation 
and  execute  them — or  else  how  did  twenty  years  in  Sing 
Sing  for  that  little  Maiden  Lane  affair  appeal  to  him?  He 
was  to  answer  by  the  next  morning,  a  simple  "yes  "  or  "  no  " 
in  the  personal  column  of  the  morning  News-Argus. 

A  threat  to  a  man  like  Jimmie  Dale  was  like  flaunting  a 
red  rag  at  a  bull,  and  a  rage  ungovernable  had  surged  upon 
him.  Then  cold  reason  had  come.  He  was  caught — there 
was  no  question  about  that — she  had  taken  pains  to  show 
him  that  he  need  make  no  mistake  there.  Innocent  enough 
in  his  own  conscience,  as  far  as  actual  theft  went,  for  the 
pearls  would  in  due  course  be  restored  in  some  way  to  the 
possession  of  their  owner,  he  would  have  been  unable  to 
make  even  his  own  father,  who  was  alive  then,  believe 
in  his  innocence,  let  alone  a  jury  of  his  peers.  Dishonour, 
shame,  ignominy,  a  long  prison  sentence,  stared  him  in  the 
face,  and  there  was  but  one  alternative — to  link  hands  with 
this  unseen,  mysterious  accomplice.  Well,  he  could  at  least 
temporise,  he  could  always  "  queer  "  a  game  in  some  specious 
manner,  if  he  were  pushed  too  far.  And  so,  in  the  next 
morning's  News-Argus,  Jimmie  Dale  had  answered  "  yes." 
And  then  had  followed  those  years  in  which  there  had  been 
no  temporising,  in  which  every  plan  was  carried  out  to  the 
last  detail,  those  years  of  curious,  unaccountable,  bewildering 
affairs  that  Carruthers  had  spoken  of,  one  on  top  of  another, 
that  had  shaken  the  old  headquarters  on  Mulberry  Street  to 
its  foundations,  until  the  Gray  Seal  had  become  a  name  to 


22      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

conjure  with.  And,  yes,  it  was  quite  true,  he  had  enterer* 
into  it  all,  gone  the  limit,  with  an  eagerness  that  wa< 
insatiable. 

The  bus  had  reached  the  lower  end  of  Fifth  Avenue, 
passed  through  Washington  Square,  and  stopped  at  the  end 
of  its  run.  Jimmie  Dale  clambered  down  from  the  top 
threw  a  pleasant  "  good-night  "  to  the  conductor,  and  headec 
briskly  down  the  street  before  him.  A  little  later  he  crossed 
into  West  Broadway,  and  his  pace  slowed  to  a  leisure!^ 
stroll. 

Here,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street,  was  a  conglomerate 
business  section  of  rather  inferior  class,  catering  doubtless 
to  the  poor,  f  oveign  element  that  congregated  west  of  Broad 
way  proper,  and  to  the  south  of  Washington  Square.  The 
street  was,  at  first  glance,  deserted ;  it  was  dark  and  dreary 
with  stores  and  lofts  on  either  side.  An  elevated  train 
roared  by  overhead,  with  a  thunderous,  deafening  clamour 
Jimmie  Dale,  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  street,  glanced 
interestedly  at  the  dark  store  windows  as  he  went  by.  And 
then,  a  block  ahead,  on  the  other  side,  his  eyes  rested  on  an 
approaching  form.  As  the  other  reached  the  corner  and 
paused,  and  the  light  from  the  street  lamp  glinted  on  brass 
buttons,  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  narrowed  a  little  under  his 
slouch  hat.  The  policeman,  although  nonchalantly  swing 
ing  a  nightstick,  appeared  to  be  watching  him. 

Jimmie  Dale  went  on  half  a  block  farther,  stooped  to  the 
sidewalk  to  tie  his  shoe,  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder 
—the  policeman  was  not  in  sight — and  slipped  like  a  shadow 
into  the  alleyway  beside  which  he  had  stopped. 

It  was  another  Jimmie  Dale  now--— the  professional  Jin> 
inie  Dale.  Quick  as  a  cat,  active,  litVie,  he  was  over  a  six- 
foot  fence  in  the  rear  of  a  building  in  a  flash,  and  crouched, 
a  black  shape,  against  the  back  door  of  an  unpretentious, 
unkempt,  dirty,  secondhand  shop  that  fronted  on  West 
Broadway — the  last  place  certainly  in  all  New  York  that  the 
managing  editor  of  the  Nezvs-Argus,  or  any  one  else,  for 
that  matter,  would  have  picked  out  as  the  setting  for  tb;, 
*econd  debut  of  the  Gray  SeaL 


^HE  GRAY  SEAL 

From  the  belt  around  his  waist,  Jimmie  Dale  took  the 
black  silk  mask,  and  slipped  it  on;  and  from  the  belt,  too, 
came  a  little  instrument  that  his  deft  fingers  manipulated 
«i  the  lock.  A  curious  snipping  sound  followed.  Jimmie 
l>de  put  his  weight  gradually  against  the  door.  The  door 
held  fast. 

"  Bolted,**  said  Jimmie  Dale  to  himself. 

The  sensitive  fingers  travelled  slowly  up  and  down  the  side 
of  the  door,  seeming  to  press  and  feel  for  the  position  of  the 
bolt  through  an  inch  of  plank — then  from  the  belt  came  a 
tiny  saw,  thin  and  pointed  at  the  end,  that  fitted  into  the 
little  handle  drawn  from  another  receptacle  in  the  leather 
girdle  beneath  the  unbuttoned  vest. 

Hardly  a  sound  it  made  as  it  bit  into  the  door.  Half  a 
minute  passed — there  was  the  faint  fall  of  a  small  piece  of 
wood— into  the  aperture  crept  the  delicate,  tapering  fingers 
—came  a  slight  rasping  of  metal — then  the  door  swung  back, 
the  dark  shadow  that  had  been  Jimmie  Dale  vanished,  awl 
the  door  closed  again. 

A  round,  white  beam  of  light  glowed  for  an  instant — and 
disappeared.  A  miscellaneous,  lumbering  collection  of  junk 
and  odds  and  ends  blocked  the  entry,  leaving  no  more  space 
than  was  sufficient  for  bare  passageway.  Jimmie  Dale  moved 
cautiously — and  once  more  the  flashlight  in  his  hand  showed 
the  way  for  an  instant — then  darkness  again. 

The  cluttered  accumulation  of  secondhand  stuff  in  the 
rear  gave  place  to  a  little  more  orderly  arrangement  as  he 
advanced  toward  the  front  of  the  store.  Like  a  huge  firefly, 
the  flashlight  twinkled,  went  out,  twinkled  again,  and  went 
out.  He  passed  a  sort  of  crude,  partitioned-off  apartment 
that  did  duty  for  the  establishment's  office,  a  sort  of  little 
boxed-in  place  it  was,  about  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
Jimmie  Dale's  light  played  on  it  for  a  moment,  but  he  kept  on 
toward  the  front  door  without  any  pause. 

Every  movement  was  quick,  sure,  accurate,  with  not  a 
wasted  second.    It  had  been  barely  a  mi-nute  since  he  had 
the  back  fence.    It  was  hardly  a  <ju&rt«?  of  m  minute 


24      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

more  before  the  cumbersome  lock  of  the  front  door  wafi 
unfastened,  and  the  door  itself  pulled  imperceptibly  ajar. 

He  went  swiftly  back  to  the  office  now — and  found  it  even 
more  of  a  shaky,  cheap  affair  than  it  had  at  first  appeared ; 
more  like  a  box  stall  with  windows  around  the  top  than  any 
thing  else,  the  windows  doubtless  to  permit  the  occupant  to 
overlook  the  store  from  the  vantage  point  of  the  high  stool 
that  stood  before  a  long,  battered,  wabbly  desk.  There  was 
a  door  to  the  place,  too,  but  the  door  was  open  and  the  key 
was  in  the  lock.  The  ray  of  Jimmie  Dale's  flashlight  swept 
once  around  the  interior — and  rested  on  an  antique^ 
ponderous  safe. 

Under  the  mask  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  parted  in  a  smile  that 
seemed  almost  apologetic,  as  he  viewed  the  helpless  iron 
monstrosity  that  was  little  more  than  an  insult  to  a  trained 
cracksman.  Then  from  the  belt  came  the  thin  metal  case  and 
a.  pair  of  tweezers.  He  opened  the  case,  and  with  the 
tweezers  lifted  out  one  of  the  gray-coloured,  diamond-shaped 
seals.  Holding  the  seal  with  the  tweezers,  he  moistened  the 
gummed  side  with  his  lips,  then  laid  it  on  a  handkerchief 
which  he  took  from  his  pocket,  and  clapped  the  handkerchief 
against  the  front  of  the  safe,  sticking  the  seal  conspicuously 
into  place,  Jimmie  Dale's  insignia  bore  no  finger  prints. 
The  microscopes  and  magnifying  glasses  at  headquarters  had 
many  a  time  regretfully  assured  the  police  of  that  fact. 

And  now  his  hands  and  fingers  seemed  to  work  like  light 
ning.  Into  the  soft  iron  bit  a  drill — bit  in  and  through — bit 
in  and  through  again.  It  was  dark,  pitch  black — and  silent. 
Not  a  sound,  save  the  quick,  dull  rasp  of  the  ratchet — like 
the  distant  gnawing  of  a  mouse !  Jimmie  Dale  worked  fast — 
another  hole  went  through  the  face  of  the  old-fashioned 
safe — and  then  suddenly  he  straightened  up  to  listen,  every 
faculty  tense,  alert,  and  strained,  his  body  thrown  a  little 
forward.  What  was  that! 

From  the  alleyway  leading  from  the  street  without, 
through  which  he  himself  had  come,  sounded  the  stealthy 
Tunch  of  feet  Motionless  in  the  utter  darkness^  Jimmit 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  2fl 

Oele  listened — there  was  a  scraping  noise  in  the  rear    some 

one  was  climbing  the  fence  that  he  had  climbed ! 

In  an  instant  the  tools  in  Jimmie  Dale's  hands  disappeared 
into  their  respective  pockets  beneath  his  vest- -and  the 
sensitive  fingers  shot  to  the  dial  on  the  safe. 

"  Too  bad,"  muttered  Jimmie  Dale  plaintively  to  himself. 
"  I  could  have  made  such  an  artistic  job  of  it-  -I  swear  I 
could  have  cut  Carruthers'  profile  in  the  hole  in  less  thati  nr 
time — to  open  it  like  this  is  really  taking  the  poor  old  thing 
at  a  disadvantage." 

He  was  on  his  knees  now,  one  ear  close  to  the  dial,  listen 
ing  as  the  tumblers  fell,  while  the  delicate  fingers  spun  the 
knob  unerringly — the  other  ear  strained  toward  the  rear  of 
the  premises. 

Came  a  footstep — a  ray  of  light — a  stumble — nearer — the 
newcomer  was  inside  the  place  now,  and  must  have  found 
out  that  the  back  door  had  been  tampered  with.  Nearer 
came  the  steps — still  nearer — and  then  the  safe  door  swung 
open  under  Jimmie  Dale's  hand,  and  Jimmie  Dale,  that  h* 
might  not  be  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  darted  from  th* 
office — but  he  had  delayed  a  little  too  long. 

From  around  the  cluttered  piles  of  junk  and  miscellany 
swept  the  light — full  on  Jimmie  Dale.  Hesitation  for  the 
smallest  fraction  of  a  second  would  have  been  fatal,  but 
hesitation  was  something  that  in  all  his  lift  Jimmie  Dale  had 
never  known.  Quick  as  a  panther  in  its  spring,  he  leaped 
full  at  the  light  and  the  man  behind  it.  The  rough  voice, 
in  surprised  exclamation  at  the  sudden  discovery  of  the 
quarry,  died  in  a  gasp. 

There  was  a  crash  as  the  two  men  met — and  the  other 
reeled  back  before  the  impact.  Onto  him  Jimmie  Dale 
sprang,  and  his  hands  flew  for  the  other's  throat.  It  was  an 
officer  in  uniform!  Jimmie  Dale  had  felt  the  brass  buttons 
as  they  locked.  In  the  darkness  there  was  a  queer  smile  on 
Jimmie  Dale's  tight  lips.  It  was  no  doubt  the  officer  whom 
he  had  passed  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

The  other  was  a  smaller  man  than  Jimmie  Dale,  but 
powerful  for  his  build — and  he  fought  now  with  all  hi? 


26      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

strength.  This  way  and  that  the  two  men  reeled,  staggered, 
swayed,  panting  and  gasping;  and  then — they  had  lurched 
back  close  to  the  office  door — with  a  sudden  swing,  every 
muscle  brought  into  play  for  a  supreme  effort,  Jimmie  Dale 
hurled  the  other  from  him,  sending  the  man  sprawling  back 
to  the  floor  of  the  office,  and  in  the  winking  of  an  eye  had 
slammed  shut  the  door  and  turned  the  key. 

There  was  a  bull-like  roar,  the  shrill  cheep-cheep-cheep 
of  the  patrolman's  whistle,  and  a  shattering  crash  as  the 
officer  flung  his  body  against  the  partition — then  the  bark 
of  a  revolver  shot,  the  tinkle  of  breaking  glass,  as  the  man 
fired  through  the  office  window — and  past  Jimmie  Dale, 
speeding  now  for  the  front  door,  a  bullet  hummed  viciously. 

Out  on  the  street  dashed  Jimmie  Dale,  whipping  the 
mask  from  his  face — and  glanced  like  a  hawk  around  him. 
For  all  the  racket,  the  neighbourhood  had  not  yet  been 
aroused — no  one  was  in  sight.  From  just  overhead  came  the 
rattle  of  a  downtown  elevated  train.  In  a  hundred-yard 
sprint,  Jimmie  Dale  raced  it  a  half  block  to  the  station,  tore 
up  the  steps — and  a  moment  later  dropped  nonchalantly 
into  a  seat  and  pulled  an  evening  newspaper  from  his 
pocket. 

Jimmie  Dale  got  off  at  the  second  station  down,  crossed 
the  street,  mounted  the  steps  of  the  elevated  again,  and  took 
the  next  train  uptown.  His  movements  appeared  to  be  some 
what  erratic — he  alighted  at  the  station  next  above  the  one 
by  which  he  had  made  his  escape.  Looking  down  the 
street  it  was  too  dark  to  see  much  of  anything,  but  a  con 
fused  noise  as  of  a  gathering  crowd  reached  him  from  what 
was  about  the  location  of  the  secondhand  store.  He  listened 
appreciatively  for  a  moment. 

"  Isn't  it  a  perfectly  lovely  night?  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  ami 
ably  to  himself.  "  And  to  think  of  that  cop  running  away 
with  the  idea  that  I  didn't  see  him  when  he  hid  in  a  door 
way  after  I  passed  the  corner!  Well,  well,  strange — isn't 
it?" 

With  another  glance  down  the  street,  a  whimsical  lift  of 
iiis  shoulders,  he  headed  west  into  the  dilapidated  tenement 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  2? 

quarter  that  huddled  for  a  handful  of  blocks  near  by,  just 
south  of  Washington  Square.  It  was  a  little  after  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning  now.  and  the  pedestrians  were  casual. 
Jimmie  Dale  read  the  street  signs  on  the  corners  as  he  went 
along,  turned  abruptly  into  an  intersecting  street,  counted 
the  tenements  from  the  corner  as  he  passed,  and — for  the 
eye  of  any  one  who  might  be  watching — opened  the  street 
door  of  one  of  them  quite  as  though  he  were  accustomed 
and  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  so,  and  went  inside. 

It  was  murky  and  dark  within ;  hot,  unhealthy,  with  lin 
gering  smells  of  garlic  and  stale  cooking.  He  groped  for  the 
stairs  and  started  up.  He  climbed  one  flight,  then  another — 
and  one  more  to  the  top.  Here,  treading  softly,  he  made  an 
examination  of  the  landing  with  a  view,  evidently,  to  ob 
taining  an  idea  of  the  location  and  the  number  of  doors  that 
opened  off  from  it. 

His  selection  fell  on  the  third  door  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs — there  were  four  all  told,  two  apartments  of  twc 
rooms  each.  He  paused  for  an  instant  to  adjust  the  blacl 
silk  mask,  tried  the  door  quietly,  found  it  unlocked,  openet 
it  with  a  sudden,  quick,  brisk  movement — and,  stepping  in 
side,  leaned  with  his  back  against  it. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly. 

It  was  a  squalid  place,  a  miserable  hole,  in  which  a  sin 
gle  flickering,  yellow  gas  jet  gave  light.  It  was  almost  bare 
of  furniture;  there  was  nothing  but  a  couple  of  cheap 
chairs,  a  rickety  table — unpawnable.  A  boy,  he  was  hardly 
more  than  that,  perhaps  twenty-two,  from  a  posture  in  which 
he  v/as  huddled  across  the  table  with  head  buried  in  out- 
flung  arms,  sprang  with  a  startled  cry  to  his  feet. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  again.  "  Your  name's 
Hagan,  Bert  Hagan — isn't  it?  And  you  work  for  Isaac 
Brolsky  in  the  secondhand  shop  over  on  West  Broadway — 
don't  you?" 

The  boy's  lips  quivered,  and  the  gaunt,  hollow,  half- 
starved  face,  white,  ashen-white  now,  was  pitiful. 

"  I — I  guess  you  got  me,"  he  faltered.    "  I — I 


28      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

you're  a  plain-clothes  man,  though  I  never  knew  dicks  wore 
masks." 

"  They  don't  generally,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  coolly.  "  It'i 
a.  fad  of  mine — Bert  Hagan." 

The  lad,  hanging  to  the  table,  turned  his  head  away  for 
a  moment — and  there  was  silence. 

Presently  Hagan  spoke  again.  "  I'll  go,"  he  said  numbly. 
"  I  won't  make  any  trouble.  Would — would  you  mind  not 
speaking  loud  ?  I — I  wouldn't  like  her  to  know." 

"  Her?  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  softly. 

The  boy  tiptoed  across  the  room,  opened  a  connecting 
door  a  little,  peered  inside,  opened  it  a  little  wider — and 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  Jimmie  Dale. 

Jimmie  Dale  crossed  to  the  boy,  looked  inside  the  other 
room — and  his  lip  twitched  queerly,  as  the  sight  sent  a 
quick,  hurt  throb  through  his  heart-  A  young  woman, 
younger  than  the  boy,  lay  on  a  tumble-down  bed,  a  rag  of 
clothing  over  her — her  face  with  a  deathlike  pallor  upon  it, 
as  she  lay  in  what  appeared  to  be  a  stupor.  She  was  ill, 
critically  ill ;  it  needed  no  trained  eye  to  discern  a  fact  all 
too  apparent  to  the  most  casual  observer.  The  squalor,  the 
glaring  poverty  here,  was  even  more  pitifully  in  evidence 
than  in  the  other  room — only  here  upon  a  chair  beside  the 
bed  was  a  cluster  of  medicine  bottles  and  a  little  heap  of 
fruit. 

Jimmie  Dale  drew  back  silently  as  the  boy  closed  the 
door. 

Hagan  walked  to  the  table  and  picked  up  his  hat. 

44  I'm— I'm  ready,"  he  said  brokenly.    "  Let's  go." 

"  Just  a  minute,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Tell  us  about 
it." 

"  Twon't  take  long,"  said  Hagan,  trying  to  smile.  "  She's 
my  wife.  The  sickness  took  all  we  had.  I — I  kinder  got 
behind  in  the  rent  and  things.  They  were  going  to  fire  us 
out  of  here — to-morrow.  And  here  wasn't  any  money  for  the 
medicine,  and — and  the  things  she  had  to  have.  Maybe  you 
wouldn't  have  done  it — but  I  did.  I  couldn't  see  her  dying 
Jbere  for  the  want  of  something  a  little  money'd  buy — and—* 


THE  GRAY  SEAL  29 

and  I  couldn't " — he  caught  his  voice  in  a  little  sob—"  I 
couldn't  see  her  thrown  out  on  the  street  like  that." 

"  And  so,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  "  instead  of  putting  old 
Isaac's  cash  in  the  safe  this  evening  when  you  locked  up, 
you  put  it  in  your  pocket  instead — eh?  Didn't  you  know 
vou'd  get  caught  ?  " 

"What  did  it  matter?'*  said  the  boy.  He  was  twirling 
his  misshappen  hat  between  his  fingers.  "  I  knew  they'd 
know  it  was  me  in  the  morning  when  old  Isaac  found  it 
gone,  because  there  wasn't  anybody  else  to  do  it.  But  I 
paid  the  rent  for  four  months  ahead  to-night,  and  I  fixed 
It  so's  she'd  have  medicine  and  things  to  eat.  I  was  going 
to  beat  it  before  daylight  myself — I  " — he  brushed  his  hand 
hurriedly  across  his  cheek — "  I  didn't  want  to  go — to  leave 
her  till  I  had  to." 

"  Well,  say  " — there  was  wonderment  in  Jimmie  Dale's 
tones,  and  his  English  lapsed  into  ungrammatical,  reassuring 
vernacular — "  ain't  that  queer !  Say,  I'm  no  detective.  Gee, 
kid,  did  you  think  I  was  ?  Say,  listen  to  this  !  I  cracked  old 
Isaac's  safe  haH  an  hour  ago — and  I  guess  there  won't  be 
any  idea  going  around  that  you  got  the  money  and  I  pulled 
a  lemon.  Say,  I  ain't  superstitious,  but  it  looks  like  luck 
meant  you  to  have  another  chance,  don't  it  ?  " 

The  hat  dropped  from  Hagan's  hands  to  the  floor,  and  he 
swayed  a  little. 

14  You — you  ain't  a  dick !  "  he  stammered.  "  Then  how'd 
you  know  about  me  and  my  name  when  you  found  the  safe 
empty  ?  Who  told  you  ?  " 

A  wry  grimace  spread  suddenly  over  Jimmie  Dale's  face 
beneath  the  mask,  and  he  swallowed  hard.  Jimmie  Dale 
would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  have  been  able  to  answer 
that  question  himself. 

"  Oh,  that !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  That's  easy — I  knew 
you  worked  there.  Say,  it's  the  limit,  ain't  it?  Talk  about 
your  luck  being  in,  why  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  sit  tight 
and  keep  your  mouth  shut,  and  you're  safe  as  a  church. 
Only  say,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  money,  now 


30      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

you've  got  a  four  months'  start  and  are  kind  of  landed  on 
your  feet?" 

"  Do? "  said  the  boy.  "  I'll  pay  it  back,  little  by  little.  I 
meant  to.  I  ain't  no "  He  stopped  abruptly. 

"  Crook,"  supplied  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly.  "  Spit  it  right 
out,  kid;  you  won't  hurt  my  feelings  none.  Well,  I'll  tell 
you — you're  talking  the  way  I  like  to  hear  you — you  pay  that 
back,  slide  it  in  without  his  knowing  it,  a  bit  at  a  time,  when 
ever  you  can,  and  you'll  never  hear  a  yip  out  of  me ;  but  if 
you  don't,  why  it  kind  of  looks  as  though  I  have  a  right  to 
come  down  your  street  and  get  my  share  or  know  the  reason 
why— eh?" 

"  Then  you  never  get  any  share,**  said  Hagan,  with  a  catch 
in  his  voice.  "  I  pay  it  back  as  fast  as  I  can." 

"  Sure,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  That's  right— that's  what  I 
said.  Well,  so  long — Hagan."  And  Jimmie  Dale  had 
opened  the  door  and  slipped  outside. 

An  hour  later,  in  his  dressing  room  in  his  house  on  River- 
side  Drive,  Jimmie  Dale  was  removing  his  coat  as  the 
telephone,  a  hand  instrument  on  the  table,  rang.  Jimmie 
Dale  glanced  at  it — and  leisurely  proceeded  to  remove  his 
vest.  Again  the  telephone  rang.  Jimmie  Dale  took  off 
his  curious,  pocketed  leather  belt — as  the  telephone  repeated 
its  summons.  He  picked  out  the  little  drill  he  had  used  a 
short  while  before,  and  inspected  it  critically — feeling  its 
point  with  his  thumb,  as  one  might  feel  a  razor's  blade 
Again  the  telephone  rang  insistently.  He  reac'ied  languidly 
for  the  receiver,  took  it  off  its  hook,  and  held  it  to  his 
ear. 

"  Hello !  *'  said  Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  sleepy  yawn.  "  Hello! 
Hello !  Why  the  deuce  don't  you  yank  a  man  out  of  bed  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  have  done  with  it,  and — eh  ? 
Oh,  that  you,  Carruthers  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  came  Carruthers'  voice  excitedly.  "  Jimmie,  lis 
ten — listen !  The  Gray  Seal's  come  to  life !  He's  just  pulled 
a  break  on  West  Broadway !  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  gasped  Jimmie  Dale.    "  You  don't  say !  " 


CHAPTER  H 

BY    PROXY 

""PHE  most  puzzling  bewildering,  delightful  crook  in 
the  annals  of  crime,"  Herman  Carruthers,  the  editor 
of  the  Morning  News-Argus,  had  called  the  Gray  Seal ;  and 
Jimmie  Dale  smiled  a  little  grimly  now  as  he  recalled  the 
occasion  of  a  week  ago  at  the  St.  James  Club  over  their 
after-dinner  coffee.  That  was  before  his  second  debut,  with 
Isaac  Brolsky's  poverty-stricken  premises  over  on  West 
Broadway  as  a  setting  for  the  break. 

She  had  written :  "  Things  are  a  little  too  warm,  aren't 
they,  Jimmie  ?  Let's  let  them  cool  for  a  year."  Well,  they 
had  cooled  for  a  year,  and  Carruthers  as  a  result  had  been 
complacently  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  the  Gray  Seal 
was  dead — until  that  break  at  Isaac  Brolsky's  over  on  West 
Broadway ! 

Jimmie  Dale's  smile  was  tinged  with  whimsicality  now. 
The  only  effect  of  the  year's  inaction  had  been  to  usher  in 
his  renewed  activity  with  a  furor  compared  to  which  all  that 
had  gone  before  was  insignificant.  Where  the  newspapers 
had  been  maudlin,  they  now  raved — raved  in  editorials  and 
raved  in  headlines.  It  was  an  impossible,  untenable,  unbe 
lievable  condition  of  affairs  that  this  Gray  Seal,  for  all  his 
incomparable  cleverness,  should  flaunt  his  crimes  in  the  faces 
of  the  citizens  of  New  York.  One  could  actually  see  the 
editors  writhing  in  their  swivel  chairs  as  their  fiery  de 
nunciations  dripped  from  their  pens !  What  was  the  matter 
with  the  police?  Were  the  police  children;  or,  worse  still, 
imbeciles — or,  still  worse  again,  was  there  some  one  "  higher 
up  "  who  was  profiting  by  this  rogue's  work  ?  New  York 
would  not  stand  for  it — New  York  would  most  decidedly 

31 


82      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

not — and  the  sooner  the  police  realised  that  fact  the  better! 
If  the  police  were  helpless,  or  tools,  the  citizens  of  New  York 
were  not,  and  it  was  time  the  citizens  were  thoroughly 
aroused. 

There  was  a  way,  too,  to  arouse  the  citizens,  that  was 
both  good  business  from  the  newspaper  standpoint,  and 
efficacious  as  a  method.  Carruthers,  of  the  Morning  News- 
Argus,  had  initiated  it.  The  Morning  News-Argus  offered 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars'  reward  for  the  capture  of  the 
Gray  Seal!  Other  papers  immediately  followed  suit  in 
varying  amounts.  The  authorities,  State  and  municipal, 
goaded  to  desperation,  did  likewise,  and  the  five  million  men, 
women,  and  children  of  New  York  were  automatically 
metamorphosed  into  embryonic  sleuths.  New  York  was 
aroused. 

Jimmie  Dale,  alias  the  Gray  Seal,  member  of  the  ultra- 
exclusive  St.  James  Club,  the  latter  fact  sufficient  in  itself 
to  guarantee  ms  social  standing,  graduate  of  Harvard,  in 
heritor  of  his  deceased  father's  immense  wealth  amassed  in 
the  manufacture  of  burglar-proof  safes,  some  of  the  most 
ingenious  patents  on  which  were  due  to  Jimmie  Dale  him- 
self,  figured  with  a  pencil  on  the  margin  of  the  newspaper 
he  had  been  reading,  using  the  arm  of  the  big,  luxurious, 
leather-upholstered  lounging  chair  as  a  support  for  the  paper. 
The  result  of  his  calculations  was  eighty-five  thousand 
dollars. 

He  brushed  the  paper  onto  the  Turkish  rug,  dove  into  the 
pocket  of  his  dinner  jacket  for  his  cigarettes,  and  began  to 
smoke  as  his  eyes  strayed  around  the  room,  his  own  par 
ticular  den  in  his  fashionable  Riverside  Drive  residence. 

Eighty-five  thousand  dollars'  reward !  Jimmie  Dale  blew 
meditative  rings  of  cigarette  smoke  at  the  fireplace.  What 
would  she  say  to  that  ?  Would  she  decide  it  was  "  too  hot  " 
again,  and  call  it  off?  It  added  quite  a  little  hazard  to  the 
game — quite  a  little!  If  he  only  knew  who  "she"  was! 
It  was  a  strange  partnership — the  strangest  partnership 
that  had  ever  existed  between  two  human  beings. 

He  turned  a  little  in  his  chair  as  a  step  sounded  in  thd 


BY  PROXY  33 

railway  without — that  is,  Jimmie  Dale  caught  the  sound, 
muffled  though  it  was  by  the  heavy  carpet.  Came  then  *. 
knock  upon  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  invited  Jimmie  Dale. 

It  was  old  Jason,  the  butler.  The  old  man  was  vism!) 
excited,  as  he  extended  a  silver  tray  on  which  lay  a  letter. 

Jimmie  Dale's  hand  reached  quickly  out,  the  lo^.g,  slim 
tapering  fingers  closed  upon  the  envelope — but  his  eyes 
were  on  Jason  significantly,  questioning'.y. 

"  Yes,  Master  Jim,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  recognised  it 
on  the  instant,  sir.  After  what  you  said,  sir,  last  week, 
honouring  me,  «.  might  say,  to  a  certain  extent  with  your  con 
fidence,  though  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  wha*  it  all  means, 


"  Who  brought  it  this  time,  Jason  ? "  inquired  Jimmie 
Dale  quietly. 

"  Not  the  young  person,  begging  your  pardon,  not  the 
/oung  lady,  sir.  A  shuffer  in  a  big  automobile.  '  Your 
master  at  once,'  he  says,  and  shoves  the  letter  into  my  hand, 
and  was  off." 

"  Very  good,  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  DaJe,  *"  You  may 
go." 

The  door  closed.  Yes,  it  was  from  her — it  was  the  same 
texture  of  paper,  there  was  the  same  rare,  haunting  fra 
grance  clinging  to  it. 

He  tore  the  envelope  open,  and  extracted  a  folded  sheet 
of  paper.  What  was  it  this  time?  To  call  the  partnership 
off  agair  until  the  present  furor  should  have  subsided  once 
more — or  the  skilfully  sketched  outline  of  a  new  adventure? 
Which?  He  glanced  at  the  few  lines  written  on  the  sheet, 
and  lunged  forward  from  his  chair  to  his  feet.  It  was 
neither  one  nor  the  other.  It  was 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  was  set,  and  an  angry  red  surge  swept 
his  cheeks.  His  lips  moved,  muttering  audibly  fragment* 
•ft  the  letter,  as  he  stared  at  it. 

" incredible  that  you — a  heinous  thing — act  instantly 

• — this  is  ruin " 

For  an  instant — a  rare  occurrence  in  Jimmie  Dale's  life—* 


34      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

oe  stood  like  a  man  stricken,  still  staring  at  the  sheet  fn  hit 
hand.  Then  mechanically  his  fingers  tore  the  paper  into 
little  pieces,  and  the  little  pieces  into  tiny  shreds.  Anger 
fled,  and  a  sickening  sense  of  impotent  dismay  took  its 
place;  the  red  left  his  cheeks,  and  in  its  stead  a  grayness 
came. 

"  Act  instantly ! "  The  words  seemed  to  leap  at  him, 
drum  at  his  ears  with  constant  repetition.  Act  instantly! 
But  how  ?  How  ?  Then  his  brain — that  keen,  clear,  master 
brain — sprang  from  stunned  inaction  into  virility  again.  Of 
course — Carruthers !  It  was  in  Carruthers'  line 

He  stepped  to  the  desk-  -and  paused  with  his  hand  ex 
tended  to  pick  up  the  telephone.  How  explain  to  Carru- 
the/s  that  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  already  knew  what  Carruthers 
might  not  yet  have  heard  of,  even  though  Carruthers  would 
naiurally  be  among  the  first  to  be  in  touch  v/ith  such  affairs ! 
Ko ;  that  would  never  do.  Better  get  there  himself  at  once 
and  trust  to 

The  telephone  rang. 

Jimmie  Dale  waited  until  it  rang  again,  then  he  lifted  the 
receiver  from  the  hook. 

-Hello?"  he  said. 

"  Hello!  Hello !  Jimmie  I "  came  a  Yoice.  "  This  is  Car 
ruthers.  That  you,  Jimmu,  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale-  -and  sat  down  limply  in  the 
desk  chair. 

"  It's  the  Gray  Seal  again.  I  promised  you  I'd  let  you  in 
on  the  ground  floor  next  time  anything  happened,  so  come 
on  down  here  quick  if  you  want  to  see  some  of  his  work  at 
firsthand." 

Jimmie  Dale  flirted  a  bead  of  sweat  from  his  forehead. 

"  Carruthers,"  said  Jimmie  languidly,  "  you  newspaper 
chaps  make  me  tired  with  your  Gray  Seal.  I'm  just  going 
to  bed." 

"  Bed  nothing ! "  spluttered  Carruthers,  from  the  other 
end  of  the  wire.  "  Come  down,  I  tell  you.  It's  worth  your 
while — half  the  population  of  New  York  would  give  the 
off  their  feet  for  the  chance.  Come  down,  you  bias*' 


BY  PROXY  35 

Idiot  i  The  Gray  Seal  has  gone  the  limit  this  time— it's 
murder." 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  was  haggard. 

"  Oh !  "  he  said  peevishly.  "  Sounds  interesting.  Where 
are  you  ?  I  guess  maybe  I'll  jog  along." 

"  I  should  think  you  would !  "  snapped  Carruthers.  "  You 
know  the  Palace  on  the  Bowery  ?  Yes  ?  Well,  meet  me  on 
the  corner  there  as  soon  as  you  can.  Hustle!  Good " 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Carruthers !  "  interposed  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Yes  ?  "  demanded  Carruthers. 

**  Thanks  awfully  for  letting  me  know,  old  man." 

**  Don't  mention  it ! "  returned  Carruthers  sarcastically. 
*  You  always  were  a  grateful  beast,  Jimmie.  Hurry  up !  " 

Jimmie  Dale  hung  up  the  receiver  of  the  city  'phone,  and 
took  down  the  receiver  of  another,  a  private-house  installa 
tion,  and  rang  twice  for  the  garage. 

"  The  light  car  at  once,  Benson,"  he  ordered  curtly.  "  At 
once!" 

Jimmie  Dale  worked  quickly  then.  In  his  dressing  room, 
ne  changed  from  dinner  clothes  to  tweeds ;  spent  a  second  or 
so  over  the  contents  of  a  locked  drawer  in  the  dresser,  from 
which  he  selected  a  very  small  but  serviceable  automatic, 
and  a  very  small  but  highly  powerful  magnifying  glass 
whose  combination  of  little  round  lenoes  worked  on  a  pivot, 
and,  closed  over  one  another,  were  of  about  the  compass  of 
4  quarter  of  a  dollar. 

In  three  minutes  he  was  outside  the  house  and  stepping 
into  the  car,  just  as  it  drew  up  at  the  curb. 

"  Benson,"  he  said  tersely  to  his  chauffeur,  "  drop  me  one 
block  this  side  of  the  Palace  on  the  Bowery — and  forget 
there  was  ever  a  speed  law  enacted.  Understand  ?  " 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Benson,  touching  his  cap.  "  I'll 
do  my  best,  sir." 

Jimmie  Dale,  in  the  tonneau,  stretched  out  his  legs  under 
the  front  seat,  and  dug  his  hands  into  his  pockets — and  in 
side  the  pockets  his  hands  were  clenched  and  knotted  fists- 
Murder  1  At  times  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  & 
possibility  that  some  crook  of  the  underworld  would  «i» 


36       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

tempt  to  cover  his  tracks  and  take  refuge  from  pursuit  by 
foisting  himself  on  the  authorities  as  the  Gray  Seal.  That 
was  a  possibility,  a  risk  always  to  be  run.  But  that  murder 
should  be  laid  to  the  Gray  Seal's  door!  Anger,  merciless 
and  unrestrained,  surged  over  Jimmie  Dale. 

There  was  peril  here,  live  and  imminent.  Suppose  that 
some  day  he  should  be  caught  in  some  little  affair,  recog 
nised  and  identified  as  the  Gray  Seal,  there  would  be  the 
charge  of  murder  hanging  over  him — and  the  electric  chair 
to  face ! 

But  the  peril  was  not  the  only  thing.  Even  worse  to 
Jimmie  Dale's  artistic  and  sensitive  temperament  was  the 
vilification,  the  holding  up  to  loathing,  contumely,  and  ab 
horrence  of  the  name,  the  stainless  name,  of  the  Gray  Seal. 
It  ivas  stainless !  He  had  guarded  it  jealously — as  a  man 
guards  the  woman's  name  he  loves. 

Affairs  that  had  mystified  and  driven  the  police  dis 
tracted  with  impotence  there  had  been,  many  of  them ;  and 
on  the  face  of  them — crimes.  But  no  act  ever  committed 
had  been  in  reality  a  crime — none  without  the  highest  of 
motives,  the  righting  of  some  outrageous  wrong,  the  pro 
tection  of  some  poor  stumbling  fellow  human. 

That  had  been  his  partnership  with  her.  How,  by  what 
amazing  means,  by  what  power  that  smacked  almost  of  the 
miraculous  she  came  in  touch  with  all  these  things  and 
supplied  him  with  the  data  on  which  to  work  he  did  not 
know — only  that,  thanks  to  her,  there  were  happier  hearts 
and  happier  homes  since  the  Gray  Seal  had  begun  to  work. 
"  Dear  Philanthropic  Crook,"  she  often  called  him  in  her 
letters.  And  now — it  was  murder! 

Take  Carruthers,  for  instance.  For  years,  as  a  reportef 
before  he  had  risen  to  the  editorial  desk,  he  had  been  one  of 
the  keenest  on  the  scent  of  the  Gray  Seal,  but  always  for  the 
sake  of  the  game — always  filled  with  admiration,  as  he  said 
himself,  for  the  daring,  the  originality  of  the  most  puzzling, 
bewildering,  delightful  crook  in  the  annals  of  crime.  Car- 
ruthcrs  was  but  an  example.  Carruthers  now  would  hunt 
the  Gray  Seal  like  a  mad  dog.  The  Gray  Seal,  to 


BY  PROXY  37 

every  one  else,  would  be  the  vilest  name  in  the  land — • 
a  synonym  for  murder. 

On  the  car  flew — and  upon  Jimmie  Dale's  face,  as  though 
chiselled  in  marble,  was  a  look  that  was  not  good  to  see. 
And  a  mirthless  smile  set,  frozen,  on  his  lips. 

"  I'll  get  the  man  that  did  this,"  gritted  Jimmie  Dale  be 
tween  his  teeth.  "  I'll  get  him !  And,  when  I  get  nim,  I'll 
wring  a  confession  from  him  if  I  have  to  swing  for  it ! " 

The  car  swept  from  Broadway  into  Astor  Place,  on  down 
the  Bowery,  and  presently  stopped. 

Jimmie  Dale  stepped  out.  "  I  shall  not  want  you  any 
more,  Benson,"  he  said.  "  You  may  return  home." 

Jimmie  Dale  started  down  the  block — a  nonchalant  Jim- 
tnie  Dale  now,  if  anything,  bored  a  little.  Near  the  corner,  a 
figure,  back  turned,  was  lounging  at  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk. 
Jimmie  Dale  touched  the  man  on  the  arm. 

"  Hello,  Carruthers !  "  he  drawled. 

"  Ah,  Jimmie !  "  Carruthers  turned  with  an  excited  smile. 
*  That's  the  boy !  You've  made  mighty  quick  time." 

"  Well,  you  told  me  to  hurry,"  grumbled  Jimmie  Dale. 
**  I'm  doing  my  best  to  please  you  to-night.  Came  down  in 
Oiy  car,  and  got  summoned  for  three  fines  to-morrow." 

Carruthers  laughed.  "  Come  on,"  he  said ;  and,  linking  his 
arm  in  Jimmie  Dale's,  turned  the  corner,  and  headed  west 
along  the  cross  street.  "  This  is  going  to  make  a  noise," 
he  continued,  a  grim  note  creeping  into  his  voice.  "  The 
biggest  noise  the  city  has  ever  heard.  I  take  back  all  I 
said  about  the  Gray  Seal.  I'd  always  pictured  his  cleverness 
as  being  inseparable  with  at  least  a  decent  sort  of  man,  even 
if  he  was  a  rogue  and  a  criminal,  but  I'm  through  with  that. 
He's  a  rotter  and  a  hound  of  the  rankest  sort!  I  didn't 
think  there  was  anything  more  vulgar  or  brutal  than  murder, 
but  he's  shown  me  that  there  is.  A  guttersnipe's  got  more 
decency!  To  murder  a  man  and  then  boastfully  label  the 
corpse  is " 

"  Say,  Carruthers,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  plaintively,  suddenly 
hanging  back,  "  I  say,  you  know,  it's — it's  all  right  for  you 
to  mess  up  in  this  sort  of  thing,  it's  your  beastly  business^, 


38      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

and  I'm  awfully  damned  thankful  to  you  for  giving  me  * 
look-in,  but  isn't  it — er — rather  infra  dig  for  me?  A  bit 
morbid,  you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I'd  never  hear 
the  end  of  it  at  the  club — you  know  what  the  St.  James  is. 
Couldn't  1  be  Merideth  Stanley  Annstruther,  or  something 
like  that,  one  of  your  new  reporters,  or  something  like  that, 
you  know  ?  " 

Carruthers  chuckled.  "  Sure,  Jimmie,"  he  said.  "  You're 
the  latest  addition  to  the  staff  of  the  News-Argus.  Don't 
worry ;  the  incomparable  Jimmie  Dale  won't  figure  publicly 
in  this." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,"  said  Jimmie  gratefully.  "  I 
have  to  have  a  notebook  or  something,  don't  I  ?  " 

Carruthers,  from  his  pocket,  handed  him  one.  "  Thanks," 
said  Jimmie  Dale. 

A  little  way  ahead,  a  crowd  had  collected  on  the  side 
walk  before  a  doorway,  and  Carruthers  pointed  with  a  jerk 
of  his  hand. 

"  It's  in  Moriarty's  place — a  gambling  hell,"  he  explained. 
"  I  haven't  got  the  story  myself  yet,  though  I've  been  in 
side,  and  had  a  look  around.  Inspector  Clayton  discovered 
the  crime,  and  reported  it  at  headquarters.  I  was  at  my 
desk  in  the  office  when  the  news  came,  and,  as  you  know  the 
interest  I've  taken  in  the  Gray  Seal,  I  decided  to  '  cover  * 
it  myself.  When  I  got  here,  Clayton  hadn't  returned  from 
headquarters,  so,  as  you  seemed  so  keenly  interested  last 
week,  I  telephoned  you.  If  Clayton's  back  now  we'll  get 
the  details.  Clayton's  a  good  fellow  with  the  '  press,'  and  he 
won't  hold  anything  out  on  us.  Now,  here  we  are.  Keep 
close  to  me,  and  I'll  pass  you  in." 

They  shouldered  through  the  crowd  and  up  to  an  officer 
at  the  door.  The  officer  nodded,  stepped  aside,  and  Car 
ruthers,  with  Jimmie  Dale  following,  entered  the  house. 

They  climbed  one  flight,  and  then  another.  The  card- 
rooms,  the  faro,  stud,  and  roulette  layouts  were  deserted, 
save  for  policemen  here  and  there  on  guard.  Carruthers 
led  the  way  to  a  room  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  whose  door 
was  open  and  from  which  issued  a  hubbub  of  voices — one 


BY  PROXY  39 


voice  rose  above  the  others,   heavy  and  gratingly 
placent. 

"  Clayton's  back,"  observed  Carruthers. 

They  stepped  over  the  threshold,  and  the  heavy  voice 
greeted  them. 

"  Ah,  here's  Carruthers  now  !  H'are  you,  Carruthers  ? 
They  told  me  you'd  been  here,  and  were  coming  back,  so 
I've  been  keeping  the  boys  waiting  before  handing  out  the 
dope.  You've  had  a  look  at  that  —  eh  ?  "  He  flung  out  a  fat 
hand  toward  the  bed. 

The  voices  rose  again,  all  directed  at  Carruthers  now. 

"  Bubble's  burst,  eh,  Carruthers  ?  What  about  the  '  Prince 
of  Crooks  '  ?  Artistry  in  crime,  wasn't  it,  you  said  ?  "  They 
were  quoting  from  his  editorials  of  bygone  days,  a  half 
dozen  reporters  of  rival  papers,  grinning  and  joshing  him 
good-naturedly,  seemingly  quite  unaffected  by  what  lay 
within  arm's  reach  of  them  upon  the  bed. 

Carruthers  smiled  a  little  wryly,  shrugged  his  shoulders— 
and  presented  Jirnmie  Dale  to  Inspector  Clayton. 

"  Mr.  Matthewson,  a  new  man  of  ours  —  inspector." 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Matthewson,"  said  the  inspec. 
tor. 

Jimmie  Dale  found  his  hand  grasped  by  another  that  was 
flabby  and  unpleasantly  moist;  and  found  himself  looking 
into  a  face  that  was  red,  with  heavy  rolls  of  unhealthy  fat 
terminating  in  a  double  chin  and  a  thick,  apoplectic  neck  —  • 
a  huge,  round  face,  with  rat's  eyes. 

Clayton  dropped  Jimmie  Dale's  hand,  and  waved  his  own 
in  the  air.  Jimmie  Dale  remained  modestly  on  the  outside 
of  the  circle  as  the  reporters  gathered  around  the  police 
inspector. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Clayton  coarsely,  "  the  guy  that's 
croaked  there  is  Metzer,  Jake  Metzer.  Get  that  ?  " 

Jimmie  Dale,  scribbling  hurriedly  in  his  notebook  like  all 
the  rest,  turned  a  little  toward  the  bed,  and  his  lower  jaw 
crept  out  the  fraction  of  an  inch.  Both  gas  jets  in  the  room 
were  turned  on  full,  giving  ample  light.  A  man  fully 
dressed,  a  man  of  perhaps  forty,  lay  upon  his  back  on  the 


40      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Ded,  on  s  arm  outflung  across  the  bedspread,  the  other  dang 
ling,  with  fingers  just  touching  the  floor,  the  head  at  an 
angle  and  off  the  pillow.  It  was  as  though  he  had  been 
carried  to  the  bed  and  flung  upon  it  after  the  deed  had  been 
committed.  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  shifted  and  swept  the  room. 
Yes,  everything  was  in  disorder,  as  though  there  had  been  a 
struggle — a  chair  upturned,  a  table  canted  against  the  wall, 
broken  pieces  of  crockery  from  the  washstand  on  the  car 
pet,  and 

"  Metzer  was  a  stool  pigeon,  s°e?  "  went  on  Clayton,  "  and 
he  lived  here.  Moriarty  wasn't  on  to  him.  Metzer  stood  in 
thick  with  a  wider  circle  of  crooks  than  any  other  snitch 
in  New  York." 

Jimmie  Dale,  still  scribbling  as  Clayton  talked,  stepped  to 
the  bed  and  leaned  over  the  murdered  man.  The  murder  had 
been  done  with  a  blackjack  evidently — a  couple  of  blows. 
The  left  side  of  the  temple  was  crushed  in  Right  in  the 
middle  of  the  forehead,  pasted  there,  a  gray-colored,  dia 
mond  shaped  paper  seal  flaunted  itself — the  device  of  the 
Gray  Seal.  In  Jimmie  Dale'  hand,  h:dden  as  he  turned  his 
hack,  the  tiny  combination  of  powerful  lenses  was  focused  on 
the  seal. 

Clayton  guffaw  d.  "  That's  right !  "  he  called  out.  "  Take 
a  good  look.  That's  a  bright  young  man  you've  got,  Carru- 
thers." 

Jimmie  Dale  looked  up  a  little  sheepishly — and  got  a  grin 
from  the  assembled  reporters,  and  a  scowl  from  Carruthers. 

"  Now,  then,"  continued  Clayton,  "  here's  the  facts — as 
much  of  'em  as  I  can  let  you  boys  print  at  present.  You 
know  I'm  stretching  a  point  to  let  you  in  here — don't  forget 
that  when  you  come  to  write  up  the  case — honour  where's 
honour's  due.  you  know.  Well,  me  and  Metzer  there  was 
getting  ready  to  close  down  on  a  big  niece  of  game,  and  I 
was  over  here  in  this  room  talking  to  him  about  it  early  this 
afternoon.  We  had  it  framed  to  get  our  man  to-night — 
see?  I  left  Metzer,  say,  about  three  o'clock,  and  he  was  to 
show  up  over  at  headquarters  with  another  little  hit  of  evK 
dence  we  wanted  at  eight  o'clock  to-night." 


BY  PROXY  41 

jffenmie  Dale  was  listening — to  every  word.  But  he 
Stooped  now  again  over  the  murdered  man's  head  delib 
erately,  though  he  felt  the  inspector's  rat's  eyes  upon  him — • 
stooped,  and,  with  his  finger  nail,  lifted  back  the  right-hand 
point  of  the  diamond-shaped  seal  where  it  bordered  a  faint 
thread  of  blood  on  the  man's  forehead. 

There  was  a  bull-like  roar  from  the  inspector,  and  he 
burst  through  the  ring  of  reporters,  and  grabbed  Jimmie 
Dale  by  the  shoulder. 

"Here  you,  what  in  hell  are  you  doing!"  he  spluttered 
angrily. 

Embarrassed  and  confused,  Jimmie  Dale  drew  back, 
glanced  around,  and  smiled  again  a  little  sheepishly  as  hia 
eyes  rested  on  the  red-flushed  jowl  of  the  inspector. 

"  I — I  wanted  to  see  how  it  was  stuck  on,"  he  explained 
inanely, 

"  Stuck  on !  "  bellowed  Clayton.  "  I'll  show  you  how  it's 
stuck  on,  if  you  monkey  around  here !  Don't  you  know  any 
better  than  that!  Where  were  you  dragged  up  anyway? 
The  coroner  hasn't  been  here  yet.  You're  a  hoi  cub  of  a 
reporter,  you  are !  "  He  turned  to  Carruthers.  "  Y'ought 
to  get  out  printed  instructions  for  'em  before  you  turn  'em 
loose !  "  he  snapped. 

Carruthers'  face  was  red  with  mortification.  There  was  a 
grin,  expanded,  on  the  faces  of  the  others. 

"  Stand  away  from  that  bed !  "  roared  Clayton  at  Jimmie 
Dale.  "  And  if  you  go  near  it  again,  I'll  throw  you  out  o( 
here  bodily !  " 

Jimmie  Dale  edged  away,  and,  eyes  lowered,  fumbled  ner 
vously  with  the  leaves  of  his  notebook. 

Clayton  grunted,  glared  at  Jimmie  Dale  for  an  instant 
viciously — and  resumed  his  story. 

"  I  was  saying,"  he  said,  "  that  Metzer  was  to  come  tts 
headquarters  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening.  Well,  he  didn't 
show  up.  That  looked  queer.  It  was  mighty  important 
business.  We  was  after  one  of  the  biggest  hauls  we'd  eve; 
pulled  off.  I  waited  till  nine  o'clock,  an  hour  ago,  and  I  wa$ 
jetting  nervous*  Then  I  started  over  here  to  find  out 


42      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DAT» 

was  the  matter.  When  I  got  here  I  asked  Moriarty  if 
seen  Metzer.  Moriarty  said  he  hadn't  since  I  was  here 
before.  He  was  a  little  suspicious  that  I  had  something  on 
Metzer — see?  Well,  by  pumping  Moriarty,  he  admitted 
that  Metzer  had  had  a  visitor  about  an  hour  after  I  left." 

"Who  was  it?  Know  what  his  name  is,  inspector?* 
asked  one  of  the  reporters  quickly. 

Inspector  Clayton  winked  heavily.  **  Don't  be  greedy, 
boys,"  he  grinned. 

"  You  mean  you've  got  him?  n  burst  out  another  one  of  the 
men  excitedly. 

"Sure!  Sure,  I've  got  him."  Inspector  Clayton  waved 
his  fat  hand  airily.  "  Or  I  will  have  before  morning — but 
I  ain't  saying  anything  more  till  it's  over."  He  smiled  sig 
nificantly.  "  Well,  that's  about  all.  You've  got  the  details 
right  around  you.  I  left  Moriarty  downstairs  and  came  up 
here,  and  found  just  what  you  see — Metzer  laying  on  the  bed 
there,  and  the  gray  seal  stuck  on  his  forehead — and  " — he 
ended  abruptly — "  I'll  have  the  Gray  Seal  himself  behind 
the  bars  by  morning." 

A  chorus  of  ejaculations  rose  from  the  reporters,  while 
their  pencils  worked  furiously. 

Then  Jimmie  Dale  appeared  to  have  an  inspiration.  Jim- 
mie  Dale  turned  a  leaf  in  his  notebook  and  began  to  sketch 
rapidly,  cocking  his  head  now  on  one  side  now  on  the  other. 
With  a  few  deft  strokes  he  had  outlined  the  figure  of  In 
spector  Clayton.  The  reporter  beside  Jimmie  Dale  leaned 
over  to  inspect  the  work,  and  another  did  likewise.  Jimmie 
Dale  drew  in  Clayton's  face  most  excellently,  if  somewhat 
flatteringly ;  and  then,  with  a  little  flourish  of  pride,  wrote 
under  the  drawing:  "The  Man  Who  Captured  the  Gray 
Seal." 

"  That's  a  cracking  good  sketch ! "  pronounced  the  re* 
porter  at  his  side.  *  Let  the  inspector  see  it." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Clayton,  scowling. 

Jimmie  Dale  handed  him  the  notebook  modestly. 

Inspector  Clayton  took  it,  looked  at  it,  looked  at 


BY  PROXY  43 

Dale ;  then  his  scowl  relaxed  into  a  self-sufficient  and  pleased 
anile,  and  he  grunted  approvingly. 

"  That's  the  stuff  to  put  over,"  he  said.  "  Mabbe  you're 
not  much  of  a  reporter,  but  you  can  draw.  Y're  all  right, 
sport — y're  all  right  Forget  what  I  said  to  you  a  while 
ago." 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled  too — deprecatingly.  And  put  the  note 
book  in  his  pocket. 

An  officer  entered  the  room  hurriedly,  and,  drawing  Clay* 
ton  aside,  spoke  in  an  undertone.  A  triumphant  and  mali 
cious  grin  settled  on  Clayton's  features,  and  he  started  with 
a  rush  for  the  door. 

*  Come  around  to  headquarters  in  two  hours,  boys,"  he 
called  as  he  went  out,  "  and  I'll  have  something  more  for 
you." 

The  room  cleared,  the  reporters  tumbling  downstairs  to 
make  for  the  nearest  telephones  to  get  their  "  copy  "  into 
their  respective  offices. 

On  the  street,  a  few  doors  up  from  the  house  where  they 
were  free  from  the  crowd,  Carruthers  halted  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Jimmie,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "  you  certainly  made  a 
mark  of  us  both.  There  wasn't  any  need  to  play  the  '  cub '  so 
egregiously.  However,  I'll  forgive  you  for  the  sake  of  the 
sketch — hand  it  over,  Jimmie ;  I'm  going  to  reproduce  it  in 
the  first  edition." 

"  It  wasn't  drawn  for  reproduction,  Carruthers — at  least^ 
not  yet,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  quietly. 

Carruthers  stared  at  him.    "  Eh  ?  "  he  asked  blankly. 

"  I've  taken  a  dislike  to  Clayton,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  whim- 
uically.  "  He's  too  patently  after  free  advertising,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  help  along  his  boost.  You  can't  have  it,  old 
man,  so  let's  think  about  something  else.  What'll  they  do 
with  that  bit  of  paper  that's  on  the  poor  devil's  forehead  up 
there,  for  instance." 

*'  Say,"  said  Carruthers, "  does  it  strike  you  that  you're  act 
ing  queer?  You  haven't  been  drinking,  have  you,  Jimmie ? ** 

"What'll  they  do  with  it?"  persisted  Jimmie  Dale. 

*Well,"     said    Carruthers,   smiling   a    little   tolerant^ 


44      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

*  they'll  photograph  it  and  enlarge  the  photograph,  and  labe 
it  '  Exhibit  A '  or  '  Exhibit  B  '  or  something  like  that — and 
file  it  away  in  the  archives  with  the  fifty  or  more  just  like 
it  that  are  already  in  their  collection." 

"  That's  what  I  thought,"  observed  Jimmie  Dale.  He 
took  Carruthers  by  the  lapel  of  the  coat.  "  I'd  like  a  photo 
graph  of  that.  I'd  like  it  so  much  that  I've  got  to  have  it. 
Know  the  chap  that  does  that  work  for  the  police  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Carruthers. 

"  Very  good !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  crisply.  "  Get  an  extra 
print  of  the  enlargement  from  him  then — for  a  considera 
tion — whatever  he  asks — I'll  pay  for  it." 

"But  what  for?"  demanded  Carruthers.  "I  don't  un 
derstand." 

"  Because,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  very  seriously,  "  put  it  down 
to  imagination  or  whatever  you  like,  I  think  I  smell  some 
thing  fishy  here,'* 

"You  what!"  exclaimed  Carruthers  in  amazement 
**  You're  not  joking,  are  you,  Jimmie?  " 

Jimmie  Dale  laughed  shortly.  "  It's  so  far  from  a  joke," 
he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  that  I  want  your  word  you'll  get 
that  photograph  into  my  hands  by  to-morrow  afternoon, 
no  matter  what  transpires  in  the  meantime.  And  look  here, 
Carruthers,  don't  think  I'm  playing  the  silly  thickhead,  and 
trying  to  mystify  you.  I'm  no  detective  or  anything  like 
that,  I've  just  got  an  idea  that  apparently  hasn't  occurred 
to  any  one  else — and,  of  course,  I  may  be  all  wrong.  If 
I  am,  I'm  not  going  to  say  a  word  even  to  yow,  because  it 
wouldn't  be  playing  fair  with  some  one  else ;  if  I'm  right  the 
Morning  News-Argus  gets  the  biggest  scoop  of  the  century. 
Will  you  go  in  on  that  basis  ?  " 

Carruthers  put  out  his  hand  impulsively.  "If  you're  m 
earnest,  Jimmie — you  bet !  " 

"  Good !  "  returned  Jimmie  Dale.  "  The  photograph  by 
to-morrow  afternoon  then.  And  now " 

**  And  now,"  said  Caruthers,  "  I've  got  to  hurry  over  to 
the  office  and  get  a  write-up  man  at  work.  Will  you  com* 


BY  PROXY  45 

Along,  or  meet  me  at  headquarters  later?    Clayton  said  in 
two  hours  he'd " 

"  Neither,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  I'm  not  interested  in 
headquarters.  I'm  going  home." 

"  Well,  all  right  then,"  Carruthers  returned.  "  You  can 
bank  on  me  for  to-morrow.  Good-night,  Jimmie." 

"  Good-night,  old  man,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  and,  turning, 
Walked  briskly  toward  the  Bowery. 

But  Jimmie  Dale  did  not  go  home.  He  walked  down  the 
Bowery  for  three  blocks,  crossed  to  the  east  side,  and  turned 
down  a  cross  street.  Two  blocks  more  he  walked  in  this 
direction,  and  halfway  down  the  next.  Here  he  paused  an 
instant — the  street  was  dimly  lighted,  almost  dark,  de 
serted.  Jimmie  Dale  edged  close  to  the  houses  until  his 
shadow  blended  with  the  shadows  of  the  walls — and  slipped 
suddenly  into  a  pitch-black  areaway. 

He  opened  a  door,  stepped  into  an  unlighted  hallway 
where  the  air  was  close  and  evil  smelling,  mounted  a  stair 
way,  and  halted  before  another  door  on  the  first  landing. 
There  was  the  low  clicking  of  a  lock,  three  times  repeated 
and  he  entered  a  room,  closing  and  fastening  the  door  be 
hind  him. 

Jimmie  Dale  called  it  his  "  Sanctuary."  In  one  of  the 
worst  neighbourhoods  of  New  York,  where  no  questions  were 
asked  as  long  as  the  rent  was  paid,  it  had  the  further  ad 
vantage  of  three  separate  exits — one  by  the  areaway  where 
he  had  entered ;  one  from  the  street  itself ;  and  another 
through  a  back  yard  with  an  entry  into  a  saloon  that 
fronted  on  the  next  street.  It  was  not  often  that  Jimmie 
Dale  used  his  Sancuary,  but  there  had  been  times  when  it 
was  no  more  nor  less  than  exactly  what  he  called  it — a 
sanctuary ! 

He  stepped  to  the  window,  assured  himself  that  the  shade 
was  down — and  lighted  the  gas,  blinking  a  little  as  the  yellow 
flame  illuminated  the  room. 

It  was  a  rough  place,  dirty,  uninviting;  a  bedroom,  fur- 
nished  in  the  most  scant)  fashion.  Neither,  apparently,  was 
ihere  anything  suspicious  about  it  to  reward  one  curious 


46      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

enough  to  break  in  during  the  owner's  absence — some  rather 
disreputable  clothes  hanging  on  the  wall,  and  flung  untidily 
across  the  bed — that  was  all. 

Alone  now,  Jimmie  Dale's  face  was  strained  and  anxious 
• — and,  occasionally,  as  he  undressed  himself,  his  hands 
clenched  until  his  knuckles  grew  white.  The  gray  seal  on 
the  murdered  man's  forehead  was  a  genuine  gray  seal — one 
of  Jimmie  Dale's  own.  There  was  no  doubt  of  that — he  had 
satisfied  himself  on  that  point. 

Where  had  it  come  from?  How  had  it  been  obtained? 
Jimmie  Dale  carefully  placed  the  clothes  he  had  taken  off 
under  the  mattress,  pulled  a  disreputable  collarless  flannel 
shirt  over  his  head,  and  pulled  on  a  disreputable  pair  of 
tx?ots.  There  were  only  two  sources  of  supply.  His  own — 
and  the  collection  that  the  police  had  made,  which  Carru- 
thers  had  referred  to. 

Jimmie  Dale  lifted  a  corner  of  the  oilcloth  in  a  corner 
of  the  room,  lifted  a  piece  of  the  flooring,  lifted  out  a  little 
box  which  he  placed  upon  the  rickety  table,  and  sat  down  be 
fore  a  cracked  mirror.  Who  was  it  that  would  have  access 
to  the  gray  seals  in  the  possession  of  the  police,  since,  ob 
viously,  it  was  one  of  those  that  was  on  the  dead  man's 
forehead?  The  answer  came  quick  enough — came  with  the 
sudden  out-thrust  of  Jimmie  Dale's  lower  jaw.  One  of  the 
police  themselves — no  one  else.  Clayton's  heavy,  cunning 
face,  Clayton's  shifty  eyes,  Clayton's  sudden  rush  when  he 
had  touched  the  dead  man's  forehead,  pictured  themselves 
in  a  red  flash  of  fury  before  Jimmie  Dale.  There  was  no 
mask  now,  no  facetiousness,  no  acted  part — only  a  merciless 
rage,  and  the  muscles  of  Jimmie  Dale's  face  quivered  and 
twitched.  Murder,  foisted,  shifted  upon  another,  upon  the 
Gray  Seal — making  of  that  name  a  calumny — ruining  for 
ever  the  work  that  she  and  he  might  do! 

And  then  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  mirthlessly,  with  thinning 
lips.  The  box  before  him  was  open.  His  fingers  worked 
quickly — a  little  wax  behind  the  ears,  in  the  nostrils,  under 
the  upper  lip,  deftly  placed — hands,  wrists,  neck,  throat,  and 
face  received  their  quota  of  stain,  applied  with  an  artist'* 


BY  PROXY  47 

touch — and  then  the  spruce,  muscular  Jimmie  Dale,  trans 
formed  into  a  slouching,  vicious-featured  denizen  of  the  un 
derworld,  replaced  the  box  under  the  flooring,  pulled  a  slouch 
hat  over  his  eyes,  extinguished  the  gas,  and  went  out. 

Jimmie  Dale's  range  of  acquaintanceship  was  wide — • 
from  the  upper  strata  of  the  St.  James  Club  to  the  elite 
of  New  York's  gangland.  And,  adored  by  the  one,  he  was 
trusted  implicitly  by  the  other — not  understood,  perhaps,  by 
the  latter,  for  he  had  never  allied  himself  with  any  of  their 
i nefarious  schemes,  but  trusted  implicitly  through  long  years 
*of  personal  contact.  It  had  stood  Jimmie  Dale  in  good  stead 
"before,  this  association,  where,  in  a  sort  of  strange,  care 
fully  guarded  exchange,  the  news  of  the  underworld  was 
common  property  to  those  without  the  law.  To  New  York  in 
its  millions,  the  murder  of  Metzer,  the  stool  pigeon,  would  be 
unknown  until  the  city  rose  in  the  morning  to  read  the  sen 
sational  details  over  the  breakfast  table;  here,  it  would 
already  be  the  topic  of  whispered  conversations,  here  it  had 
probably  been  known  long  before  the  police  had  discovered 
the  crime.  Especially  would  it  be  expected  to  be  known  to 
Pete  Lazanis,  commonly  called  the  Runt,  who  was  a  power 
below  the  dead  line  and,  more  pertinent  still,  one  in  whose 
confidence  Jimmie  Dale  had  rejoiced  for  years. 

Jimmie  Dale,  as  Larry  the  Bat — a  euphonious  "  monaker  " 
bestowed  possibly  because  this  particular  world  knew  him 
only  by  night — began  a  search  for  the  Runt.  From  one  re 
sort  to  another  he  hurried,  talking  in  the  accepted  style 
through  one  corner  of  his  mouth  to  hard-visaged  individ 
uals  behind  dirty,  reeking  bars  that  were  reared  on  equally 
dirty  and  foul-smelling  sawdust-strewn  floors ;  visiting  dance 
halls,  secretive  back  rooms,  and  certain  Chinese  pipe  joints. 
But  the  Runt  was  decidedly  elusive.  There  had  been  no 
news  of  him,  no  one  had  seen  him — and  this  after  fully  an 
hour  had  passed  since  Jimmie  Dale  had  left  Carruthers  in 
front  of  Moriarty's.  The  possibilities  however  were  still 
legion — numbered  only  by  the  numberless  dives  and  dens 
sheltered  by  that  quarter  of  the  city. 

Jimmie  Dale  turned  iwto  Chatham  Square,  heading  foi 


48       THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

che  Pagoda  Dance  Hall.  A  man  loitering  at  the  curb  shoi 
»  swift,  searching  glance  at  him  as  he  slouched  by.  Jimmic 
Dale  paused  in  the  doorway  of  the  Pagoda  and  lookec}  up 
and  down  the  street.  The  man  he  had  passed  had  drawn  a 
little  closer;  another  man  in  an  apparently  aimless  fashion 
lounged  a  few  yards  away. 

"  Something  up,"  muttered  Jimmie  Dale  to  himself. 
*  Lansing,  of  headquarters,  and  the  other  looks  like  Milrae." 

Jimmie  Dale  pushed  in  through  the  door  of  the  Pagoda.  A 
bedlam  of  noise  surged  out  at  him — a  tin-pan  piano  and  a 
mandolin  were  going  furiously  from  a  little  raised  platform 
at  the  rear;  in  the  centre  of  the  room  9  dozen  couple?  were 
in  the  throes  of  the  tango  and  the  bunny-hug ;  around  the 
sides,  at  little  tables,  men  and  women  laughed  and  applauded 
and  thumped  time  on  the  tabletops  with  their  beer  mugs; 
while  waiters,  with  beer-stained  aprons  and  unshaven  faces, 
juggled  marvelous  handfuls  of  glasses  and  mugs  from  the 
bar  beside  the  platform  to  the  patrons  at  the  tables. 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  swept  the  room  in  a  swift,  compre 
hensive  glance,  fixed  on  a  little  fellow,  loudly  dressed,  who 
snared  a  table  halfway  down  the  room  with  a  woman  in  a 
picture  hat,  and  a  smile  of  relief  touched  his  lips.  The  Runt 
lit  last ! 

He  walked  down  the  room,  caught  the  Runt's  eyes  signifi 
eantly  as  he  passed  the  table,  kept  on  to  a  door  between 
the  platform  and  the  bar,  opened  it,  arid  went  out  into  a 
lighted  hallway,  at  one  end  of  which  a  door  opened  ontc 
the  street,  and  at  the  other  a  stairway  led  above. 

The  Runt  joined  him.  "  Wot's  de  row,  Larry?"  in 
quired  the  Runt. 

"  Nuthin'  much,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Only  I  t'ought  I'd 
let  youse  know.  I  was  passin*  Moriarty's  an'  got  de  tip- 
Say,  some  guy's  croaked  Jake  Metzer  dere." 

"  Aw,  f erget  it !  "  observed  the  Runt  airily.  "  Dat's  stale. 
I  was  wise  to  dat  hours  ago." 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  fell.  "  But  I  just  come  from  dere/*  te* 
fcisisted ;  "  an*  de  harness  bulls  only  just  found  it  out1* 


BY  PROXY  49 

*  Mabbe,"  grunted  the  Runt-    "  But  Metzer  got  his  early 
lot  de  afternoon — see?" 

Jimmie  Dale  looked  quickly  around  him — and  then  leaned 
toward  the  Runt. 

"  Wot's  de  lay,  Runt?  "  he  whispered. 

The  Runt  pulled  down  one  eyelid,  and,  with  his  knowing 
grin,  the  cigarette,  clinging  to  his  upper  lip,  sagged  down  in 
the  opposite  corner  of  his  mouth. 

Jimmie  Dale  grinned,  too — in  a  flash  inspiration  had  come 
lo  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Say,  Runt " — he  jerked  his  head  toward  the  street  door 
»— "  wot's  de  fly  cops  doin'  out  dere  ?  " 

The  grin  vanished  from  the  Runt's  lips.  He  stared  for  a 
second  wildly  at  Jimmie  Dale,  and  then  clutched  at  Jimmie 
Dale's  arm. 

"  De  wot  f  "  he  said  hoarsely. 

*  De  fly  cops,"  Jimmie  Dale  repeated  in  well-simulated 
surprise.     "  Dey  was  dere  when  I  come  in — Lansing  an* 
Milrae,  an " 

The  Runt  shot  a  hurried  glance  at  the  stairway,  and  licked 
his  lips  as  though  they  had  gone  suddenly  dry. 

"  My  Gawd,  I "  He  gasped,  and  shrank  hastily  back 

against  the  wall  beside  Jimmie  Dale. 

The  door  from  the  street  had  opened  noiselessly,  instantly, 
Black  forms  bulked  there — then  a  rush  of  feet — and  at  the 
head  of  half  a  dozen  men,  the  face  of  Inspector  Clayton 
loomed  up  before  Jimmie  Dale.  There  was  a  second's 
pause  in  the  rush;  and,  in  the  pause,  Clayton's  voice,  in  a 
vicious  undertone : 

"  You  two  ginks  open  your  traps,  and  I'll  run  you  both 
in!" 

And  then  the  rush  passed,  and  swept  on  up  the  stairs. 

Jimmie  Dale  looked  at  the  Runt.  The  cigarette  dangled 
limply ;  the  Runt's  eyes  were  like  a  hunted  beast's. 

"  Dey  got  him !  "  he  mumbled.  "  It's  Stace — Stace  Morse, 
He  come  to  me  after  croakin'  Metzer,  an'  he's  been  hidin' 
ap  dere  all  afternoon." 

Stace  Morse — known  in  gangland  as  a  man  with  every 


50      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

•crime  in  the  calendar  to  his  credit,  and  prominent  because 
of  it !  Something  seemed  to  go  suddenly  queer  inside  of 
Timmie  Dale.  Stace  Morse!  Was  he  wrong,  after  all? 
Jimmie  Dale  drew  closer  to  the  Runt. 

'*  Yer  givin*  me  a  steer,  ain't  youse?"  He  spoke  again 
from  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  almost  inaudibly.  "  Are 
Youse  sure  it  was  Stace  croaked  Metzer  f  Wot  f er  ?  How'd 
«sr  know  ?  " 

The  Runt  was  listening,  his  eyes  strained  toward  the 
iwairs.  The  hall  door  to  the  street  was  closed,  but  both  were 
quite  well  aware  that  there  was  an  officer  on  guard  outside. 

"  He  told  me,"  whispered  the  Runt.  "  Metzer  was  fixin* 
ter  snitch  on  him  ter-night.  Dey've  got  de  goods  on  Stace, 
too.  He  made  a  oum  job  of  it." 

"  Why  didn't  he  get  out  of  de  country  den  when  IK 
had  de  chanst,  instead  of  hangin'  around  here  all  after- 
noon  ?  "  demanded  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  He  was  broke,"  the  Runt  answered.  "  We  was  gettin* 
de  coin  fer  him  ter  fade  away  wid  ter-night,  an' " 

A  revolver  shot  from  above  cut  short  his  words.  Came 
then  the  sound  of  a  struggle,  oaths,  the  shuffling  tread  of 
feet — but  in  the  dance  hall  the  piano  still  rattled  on,  the 
mandolin  twanged,  voices  sang  and  applauded,  and  beer 
mugs  thumped  time. 

They  were  on  the  stairs  now,  the  officers,  half  carrying, 
half  dragging  some  one  between  them — and  the  man  they 
dragged  cursed  them  with  utter  abandon.  As  they  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  Jimmie  Dale  caught  sight  of  the 
prisoner's  face — not  a  prepossessing  one — villainous, — low 
browed,  contorted  with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  rage. 

"  It's  a  lie !  A  lie !  A  lie !  "  the  man  shrieked.  "  I  never 
seen  him  in  me  life — blast  you! — curse  you! — d'ye  hear!" 

Inspector  Clayton  caught  Jimmie  Dale  and  the  Runt  by 
the  collars. 

"  There's  nothing  to  interest  you  around  here ! "  he 
snapped  maliciously.  "  Go  on,  now — beat  it !  "  And  he 
pushed  them  toward  the  door. 

They  had  heard  the  disturbance  in  the  dance  hall  now 


BY  PROXY  51 

and  the  .i«cupants  were  swarming  to  the  sidewalk.  A  pa 
trol  wagon  came  around  the  corner.  In  the  crowd  Jimmie 
Dale  slipped  away  from  the  Runt. 

Was  he  wrong,  after  all  ?  A  fierce  passion  seized  him.  It 
was  Stace  Morse  who  had  murdered  Metzer,  the  Runt  had 
said.  In  Jimmie  Dale's  brain  the  words  began  to  reiterate 
themselves  in  a  singsong  fashion :  "  It  was  Stace  Morse. 
It  was  Stace  Morse."  Then  his  lips  drew  tight  together. 
Was  it  Stace  Morse  ?  He  would  have  given  a  good  deal  for 
a  chance  to  talk  to  the  man — even  for  a  minute.  But  there 
was  no  possibility  of  that  now.  Later,  to-morrow  perhaps., 
if  he  was  wrong,  after  all ! 

Jimmie  Dale  returned  to  the  Sanctuary,  removed  from 
his  person  all  evidences  of  Larry  the  Bat — and  from  the 
Sanctuary  went  home  to  Riverside  Drive. 

In  his  den  there,  in  the  morning  after  breakfast,  Jason, 
the  butler,  brought  him  the  papers.  Three-inch  headlines 
in  red  ink  screamed,  exulted,  and  shrieked  out  the  news  that 
the  Gray  Seal,  in  the  person  of  Stace  Morse,  fence,  yegg- 
man  and  murderer,  had  been  captured.  The  public,  if  it  had 
held  any  private  admiration  for  the  one-time  mysterious 
crook  could  now  once  and  forever  disillusion  itself.  The 
Gray  Seal  was  Stace  Morse — and  Stace  Morse  was  of  the 
dregs  of  the  city's  scum,  a  pariah,  an  outcast,  with  no  singl? 
redeeming  trait  to  lift  him  from  the  ruck  of  mire  and  slime 
that  had  strewn  his  life  from  infancy.  The  face  of  In 
spector  Clayton,  blandly  self-complacent,  leaped  out  from 
the  paper  to  meet  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes — and  with  it  a  column 
and  a  half  of  perfervid  eulogy. 

Something  at  first  like  dismay,  the  dismay  of  impotency., 
filled  Jimmie  Dale — and  then,  cold,  leaving  him  unnaturally 
calm,  the  old  merciless  rage  took  its  place.  There  was  noth 
ing  to  do  now  but  wait — wait  until  Carruthers  should  send 
that  photograph.  Then  if,  after  all,  he  were  wrong — then 
he  must  find  some  other  way.  But  was  he  wrong!  The 
notebook  that  Carruthers  had  given  him,  open  at  the  sketch 
he  had  made  of  Clayton,  lay  upon  the  desk.  Jimmie  Dale 
picked  it  up — he  had  already  spent  quite  a  little  tiwe  over  '$ 


52      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

(before  breakfast  —  and  examined  it  again  minutely,  even  re- 
sorting  to  his  magnifying  glass.  He  put  it  down  as  a  knock 
sounded  at  the  door,  and  Jason  entered  with  a  silver  card 
tray.  From  Carruthers  already!  Jimmie  Dale  stepped 
quickly  forward  —  and  then  Jimmie  Dale  met  the  old  man's 
eyes.  It  wasn't  from  Carruthers  —  it  was  from  her! 

"  The  same  shuffer  brought  it,  Master  Jim,"  said  Jason. 

Ji.mmie  Dale  snatched  the  envelope  from  the  tray,  and 
Waved  the  other  from  the  room.  As  the  door  closed,  he  tore 
•^pen  the  letter.  There  was  just  a  single  line  : 

Jimmie  —  Jimmie,  you  haven't  failed,  have  you? 

Jimmie  Dale  stared  at  it.  Failed!  Failed  —  her!  The 
haggard  look  was  in  his  face  again.  It  was  the  bond  be 
tween  them  that  was  at  stake  —  the  Gray  Seal  —  the  bond  that 
had  come,  he  knew  for  all  time  in  that  instant,  to  mean  his 
«fe. 

"  God  knows  !  "  he  muttered  hoarsely,  and  flung  himself 
into  a  lounging  chair,  still  staring  at  the  note. 

The  hours  dragged  by.  Luncheon  time  arrived  and  passed 
—  and  then  by  special  messenger  the  little  package  from  Car 
ruthers  came. 

Jimmie  Dale  started  to  undo  the  string,  then  laid  the  pack 
age  down,  and  held  out  his  hands  before  him  for  inspection. 
They  were  trembling  visibly.  It  was  a  strange  condition 
for  Jimmie  Dale  either  to  witness  or  experience,  unlike  him, 
foreign  to  him. 

*  This  won't  do,  Jimmie,"  he  said  grimly,  shaking  his 
head. 

He  picked  up  the  package  again,  opened  it,  and  from  be 
tween  two  pieces  of  cardboard  took  out  a  large  photographic 
print.  A  moment,  two,  Jimmie  Dale  examined  it,  used  the 
magnifying  glass  again  :  and  then  a  strange  gleam  came  into 
the  dark  eyes,  and  his  lips  moved. 

**  I've  won,"  said  Jimmie   Dale,  with  ominous  softness. 


was  standing  beside  the  rosewood  desk,  and  he  reached 


BY  PROXY  53 

for  the  phone.  Carruthers  would  be  at  home  now — he  called 
Carruthers  there..  After  a  moment  or  two  he  got  the  conneC' 
tion. 

"  This  is  Jimmie,  Carruthers,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  I  got  it 
Thanks.  .  ,  „  Yes.  .  .  .  Listen.  I  want  you  to  get 
Inspector  Clayton,  and  bring  him  up  here  at  once.  .  ,  „ 
What?  No,  no — no!  .  .  .  How?  .  .  .  Why — er — 
tell  him  you're  going  to  run  a  full  page  of  him  in  the  Sunday 
edition,  and  you  want  him  to  sit  for  a  sketch.  He'd  go 
anywhere  for  that.  .  ,  .  Yes.  .  i  »  Half  an 
hour.  .  .  .  Yes.  *  .  *  Good-bye." 

Jimmie  Dale  hung  up  the  receiver ;  and,  hastily  now,  be« 
gan  to  write  upon  a  pad  that  lay  before  him  on  the  desk, 
The  minutes  passed.  As  he  wrote,  he  scored  out  words  and 
fines  here  and  there,  substituting  others-  At  the  end  he  had 
covered  three  large  pages  with,  to  any  one  but  himslf,  an  in 
decipherable  scrawl.  These  he  shoved  aside  now,  and,  very 
carefully,  very  legibly,  made  a  copy  on  fresh  sheets.  As  he 
finished,  he  heard  a  car  draw  up  in  front  of  the  house.  Jim 
mie  Dale  folded  the  copied  sheets  neatly,  tucked  them  in  hi* 
pocket,  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  was  lolling  lazily  in  hi« 
chair  as  Jason  announced :  "  Mr.  Carruthers,  sir,  and  an 
other  gentleman  to  see  you." 

"  Show  them  up,  Jason,"  instructed  Jimmie  Dale, 

Jimmie  Dale  rose  from  his  chair  as  they  came  in,  Jason, 
well-trained  servant,  closed  the  door  behind  them. 

"  Hello,  Carruthers ;  hello,  inspector,"  said  Jimmie  Dale 
pleasantly,  and  waved  them  to  seats.  "  Take  this  chair, 
Carruthers."  He  motioned  to  one  at  his  elbow.  "  Glad  to 
see  you,  inspector — try  that  one  in  front  of  the  desk,  you'll 
find  it  comfortable." 

Carruthers,  trying  to  catch  Jimmie  Dale's  eye  for  some 
sort  of  a  cue,  and,  failing,  sat  down.  Inspector  Clayton 
ttared  at  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  eh  ?  "  His  eyes  roved  around  the  room, 
fastened  for  an  instant  on  some  of  Jimmie  Dale's  work  on  an 
easel,  came  back  finally  to  Jimmie  Dale — and  he  plumped 
himself  down  in  the  chair  indicated.  "  Thought  you 


£4      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

more'n  a  cub  reporter,"  he  remarked,  with  a  grin.  "  You 
were  too  slick  with  your  pencil.  Pretty  fine  studio  you  got 
here.  Carruthers  says  you're  going  to  draw  me." 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled — not  pleasantly — and  leaned  sud 
denly  over  the  desk. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  a  grim  intonation  in  his  voice,  "  I'm 
going  to  draw  you — trite  to  life." 

With  an  exclamation,  Clayton  slued  around  in  his  chair, 
half  rose,  and  his  shifty  eyes,  small  and  cunning,  bored  into 
Jimmie  Dale's  face. 

"  What  d'ye  mean  by  that  ?  "  he  snapped  out. 

"  Just  exactly  what  I  say,"  replied  Jimmie  Dale  curtly. 
**  No  more,  no  less.  But  first,  not  to  be  too  abrupt,  I  want  to 
join  with  the  newspapers  in  congratulating  you  on  the  re 
markable — shall  I  call  it  celerity,  or  acumen? — with  which 
you  solved  the  mystery  of  Metzer's  death,  and  placed  the 
murderer  behind  the  bars.  It  is  really  remarkable,  inspec 
tor,  so  remarkable,  in  fact,  that  it's  almost — suspicious, 
Don't  you  think  so?  No?  Well,  that's  what  Mr.  Carru 
thers  was  good  enough  to  bring  you  up  here  to  talk  over — 
in  an  intimate  and  confidential  way,  you  know." 

Inspector  Clayton  surged  up  from  his  chair  to  his  feet, 
his  fists  clenched,  the  red  sweeping  over  his  face — and  then 
he  shook  one  fist  at  Carruthers. 

"  So  that's  your  game,  is  it !  "  he  stormed.  "  Trying  to 
crawl  out  of  that  twenty-five  thousand  reward,  eh  ?  And  a3 
for  you  " — he  turned  on  Jimmie  Dale — "  you've  rigged  up  a 
nice  little  plant  between  you,  eh  ?  Well,  it  won't  work — and 
I'll  make  you  squirm  for  this,  both  of  you,  damn  you,  before 
I'm  through !  "  He  glared  from  one  to  the  other  for  a  mo 
ment — then  swung  on  his  heel.  "  Good-afternoon,  gentle 
men,"  he  sneered,  as  he  started  for  the  door. 

He  was  halfway  across  the  room  before  Jimmie  Dale 
spoke. 

"Clayton!" 

Clayton  turned.  Jimmie  Dale  was  still  leaning  over  the 
desk,  but  now  one  elbow  was  Drooped  upon  it,  and  in  the 
most  casual  way  a  revolver  covered  Inspector  Clayton. 


BY  PROXY  531 

"  If  you  attempt  to  leave  this  room,"  said  Jimmie  Dale, 
without  raising  his  voice,  "  I  assure  you  that  I  shall  fire 
with  as  little  compunction  as  though  I  were  aiming  at  a  mad 
dog — and  I  apologise  to  all  mad  dogs  for  coupling  your  name 
with  them."  His  voice  rang  suddenly  cold.  "  Come  back 
here,  and  sit  down  in  that  chair ! " 

The  colour  ebbed  slowly  from  Clayton's  face.  He  hesi 
tated — then  sullenly  retraced  his  steps ;  hesitated  again  as  he 
reached  the  chair,  and  finally  sat  down. 

"  What — what  d'ye  mean  by  this  ?  "  he  stammered,  trying 
to  bluster. 

"  Just  this,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  That  I  accuse  you  of  the 
murder  of  Jake  Metzer — it  was  you  who  murdered  Metzer? 

"  Good  God !  "  burst  suddenly  from  Carruthers. 

"  You  lie ! "  yelled  Clayton — and  again  he  surged  up  from 
his  chair. 

"  That  is  what  Stace  Morse  said,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  coolly. 
44  Sit  down!" 

Then  Clayton  tried  to  laugh.  "  You're — you're  having  a 
joke,  ain't  you  ?  It  was  Stace — I  can  prove  it.  Come  down 
to  headquarters,  and  I  can  prove  it.  I  got  the  goods  on  him 
all  the  way.  I  tell  you  " —  his  voice  rose  shrilly — "  it  was 
Stace  Morse." 

"  You  are  a  despicable  hound,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  through 
set  lips.  "  Here  " — he  handed  the  revolver  over  to  Car 
ruthers — "  keep  him  covered,  Carruthers.  You're  going  to 
the  chair  for  this,  Clayton,"  he  said,  in  a  fierce  monotone. 
"  The  chair !  You  can't  send  another  there  in  your  place— 
this  time.  Shall  I  draw  you  now — true  to  life?  You've  been 
grafting  for  years  on  every  disreputable  den  in  your  dis 
trict.  Metzer  was  going  to  show  you  up;  and  so,  Metzer 
being  in  the  road,  you  removed  him.  And  you  seized  on 
the  fact  of  Stace  Morse  having  paid  a  visit  to  him  this  after 
noon  to  fix  the  crime  on — Stace  Morse.  Proofs  ?  Oh,  yes, 
I  know  you've  manufactured  proofs  enough  to  convict  him 
—if  there  weren't  stronger  proofs  to  convict  you." 

"Convict  wet"    Clayton's  lower  jaw  hung  loosely;  bag 


56      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

still  he  made  an  effort  at  blusten  "  You  haven't  a  thing  on 
me — not  a  thing — not  a  thing." 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled  again — unpleasantly. 

"  You  are  quite  wrong,  Clayton.  See — here.*  He  took 
a  sheet  of  paper  from  the  drawer  of  his  desk. 

Gay  ton  reached  for  it  quickly,  "  What  is  it  ?  "  he  de 
manded. 

Jimmie  Dale  drew  it  back  out  of  reach. 

"  Just  a  minute,"  he  said  softly.  "  You  remember,  don't 
you,  that  in  the  presence  of  Carruthers  here,  of  myself,  and 
of  half  a  dozen  reporters,  you  stated  that  you  had  been  alone 
with  Metzer  in  his  room  at  three  o'clock  yesterday,  and  that 
it  was  you — alone — who  found  the  body  later  on  at  nine 
o'clock  ?  Yes  ?  I  mention  this  simply  to  show  that  from 
your  own  lips  the  evidence  is  complete  that  you  had  an 
opportunity  to  commit  the  crime.  Now  you  may  look  at  this, 
Clayton."  He  handed  over  the  sheet  of  paper, 

Clayton  took  it,  stared  at  it,  turning  it  over  from  first  one 
aide  to  the  other.  Then  a  sort  of  relief  seemed  to  come  to 
him  and  he  gulped. 

"  Nothing  but  a  damned  piece  of  blank  paper ! "  he  mum- 
Wed 

Jimmie  Dale  reached  over  and  took  back  the  sheet. 

"  You're  wrong  again,  Clayton,"  he  said  calmly.  **  It 
was  quite  blank  before  I  handed  it  to  you — but  not  now.  I 
noticed  yesterday  that  your  hands  were  generally  moist.  1 
am  sure  they  are  more  so  now — excitement,  you  know.  Car 
ruthers,  see  that  he  doesn't  interrupt." 

From  a  drawer,  Jinin  ie  Dale  took  out  a  little  black  bottle, 
the  notebook  ne  had  ased  .he  day  before,  and  the  photograph 
Carruthers  had  sent  him.  On  the  sheet  of  paper  Clayton  had 
Just  handled,  Jimmie  Dale  sprinkled  a  little  powder  from  the 
bottle. 

"  Lampblack,"  explained  Jimmie  Dale.  He  shook  the 
paper  carefully,  allowing  the  loose  powder  to  fall  on  the  desk 
blotter — and  held  out  the  sheet  toward  Clayton.  "  Rather 
neat,  5sn  £  it?  A  very  good  impression,  too.  Your  thumb 
,?rint,  iuMytoa.  Now  don't  move.  You  may  look— not 


BY  PROXY  57 

touch."  He  laid  the  paper  down  on  the  desk  in  front  of 
Clayton.  Beside  it  he  placed  the  notebook,  open  at  the 
sketch — a  black  thumb  print  now  upon  it.  "  You  recall 
handling  this  yesterday,  I'm  sure,  Clayton.  I  tried  the  same 
experiment  with  the  lampblack  on  it  this  morning,  you  see. 
And  this  " — beside  the  notebook  he  placed  the  police  photo 
graph  ;  that,  too,  in  its  enlargement,  showed,  sharply  de 
fined,  a  thumb  print  on  a  diamond-shaped  background. 
**  You  will  no  doubt  recognise  it  as  an  official  photograph, 
enlarged,  taken  of  the  gray  seal  on  Metzer's  forehead — and 
the  thumb  print  of  Metzer's  murderer.  You  have  only  to 
glance  at  the  little  scar  at  the  edge  of  the  centre  loop  to 
satisfy  yourself  that  the  three  are  identical.  Of  course,  there 
are  a  dozen  other  points  of  similarity  equally  indisputable, 
but " 

Jimmie  Dale  stopped.  Clayton  was  on  his  feet — rocking 
on  his  feet.  His  face  was  deathlike  in  its  pallor.  Mois* 
ture  was  oozing  from  his  forehead. 

44 1  didn't  do  it !  I  didn't  do  it ! "  he  cried  out  wildly. 
**  My  God,  I  tell  you,  I  didn't  do  it — and — and — that  would 
send  me  to  the  chair." 

44  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  coldly,  "  and  that's  precisely 
where  you're  going — to  the  chair." 

The  man  was  beside  himself  now — racked  to  the  soul  by 
1  paroxysm  of  fear. 

"  I'm  innocent — innocent !  "  he  screamed  out.  "  Oh,  f ot 
God's  sake,  don't  send  an  innocent  man  to  his  death.  It 
was  Stace  Morse.  Listen !  Listen !  I'll  tell  the  truth."  He 
was  clawing  with  his  hands,  piteously,  over  the  desk  at  Jim 
mie  Dale.  "  When  the  big  rewards  came  out  last  week  1 
stole  one  of  the  gray  seals  from  the  bunch  at  headquarters 
to — to  use  it  the  first  time  any  crime  was  committed  when  1 
was  sure  I  could  lay  my  hands  on  the  man  who  did  it. 
Don't  you  see?  Of  course  he'd  deny  he  was  the  Gray  Seal, 
just  as  he'd  deny  that  he  was  guilty — but  I'd  have  the  proof 
both  ways  and — and  I'd  collect  the  rewards,  and— and- 
The  man  collapsed  into  the  chair. 


58      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Carruthers  was  up  from  his  seat,  his  hands  gripping  tigte 
on  the  edge  of  the  desk  as  he  leaned  over  it. 

"  Jimmie — Jimmie — what  does  this  mean  ?  "  he  gasped  out. 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled — pleasantly  now. 

"  That  he  has  told  the  truth,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  quietly, 
"  It  is  quite  true  that  Stace  Morse  committed  the  murder. 
Shows  up  the  value  of  circumstantial  evidence  though, 
doesn't  it?  This  would  certainly  have  got  him  off,  and  con 
victed  Clayton  here  before  any  jury  in  the  land.  But  the 
point  is,  Carruthers,  that  Stace  Morse  isn't  the  Gray  Seal— 
and  that  the  Gray  Seal  is  not  a  murderer." 

Clayton  looked  up.  "  You — you  believe  me  ?  "  he  stam 
mered  eagerly. 

Jimmie  Dale  whirled  on  him  in  a  sadden  sweep  of  pas 
sion. 

"  No,  you  cur !  "  he  flashed.  "  It's  not  you  I  believe.  I 
simply  wanted  your  confession  before  witnesses."  He 
whipped  the  three  written  sheets  from  his  pocket.  "  Here, 
substantially,  is  that  confession  written  out."  He  passed 
it  to  Carruthers.  "  Read  it  to  him,  Carruthers." 

Carruthers  read  it  aloud. 

"  Now,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  grimly,  "  this  spells  ruin  for 
you,  Clayton.  You  don't  deserve  a  chance  to  escape  prison 
bars,  but  I'm  going1  to  give  you  one,  for  you're  going  to  get 
it  pretty  stiff,  anyhow.  If  you  refuse  to  sign  this,  I'll  hand 
you  over  to  the  district  attorney  in  half  an  hour,  and  Car 
ruthers  and  I  will  swear  to  your  confession;  on  the  other 
hand,  if  you  sign  it,  Carruthers  will  not  be  able  to  print  it 
until  to-morrow  morning,  and  that  gives  you  something  like 
fourteen  hours  to  put  distance  between  yourself  and  Nevr 
York.  Here  is  a  pen — if  you  are  quick  enough  to  take  us  by 
surprise  once  you  have  signed,  you  might  succeed  in  making 
a  dash  for  that  door  and  effecting  your  escape — without  forc 
ing  us  to  compound  a  felony — understand  ?  " 

Clayton's  hand  trembled  violently  as  he  seized  the  pen. 
He  scrawled  his  name — looked  from  one  to  the  other — wet 
his  lips — and  then,  taking  Jimmie  Dale  at  his  word,  rushed 
tor  the  door — and  the  door  slammed  behind  him. 


BY  PROXY  59 

Carruthers'  face  was  hard.  "  What  did  you  let  him  go 
ior,  Jimmie?"  he  said  uncompromisingly. 

"  Selfishness.  Pure  selfisheness,"  said  Jimmie  Dale 
softly.  "  They'd  guy  me  unmercifully  if  they  ever  heard  of 
it  at  the  St.  James  Club.  The  honour  is  all  yours,  Carru 
thers.  I  don't  appear  on  the  stage.  That's  understood? 
Yes  ?  Well,  then  " — he  handed  over  the  signed  confession— 
"  is  the  '  scoop  '  big  enough  ?  " 

Carruthers  fingered  the  sheets,  but  his  eyes  in  a  bewildered 
way  searched  Jimmie  Dale's  face. 

"  Big  enough ! "  he  echoed,  as  though  invoking  the  un 
iverse.  "  It's  the  biggest  thing  the  newspaper  game  has  ever 
known.  But  how  did  you  come  to  do  it  ?  What  started  you  ? 
Where  did  you  get  your  lead  ?  " 

"  Why,  from  you,  I  guess,  Carruthers,"  Jimmie  Dale  an 
swered  thoughtfully,  with  artfully  puckered  brow.  "  I  re 
membered  that  you  had  said  last  week  that  the  Gray  Seal 
never  left  finger  marks  on  his  work — and  I  saw  one  on  the 
seal  on  Metzer's  forehead.  Then,  you  know,  I  lifted  one 
corner  where  the  seal  overlapped  a  thread  of  blood,  and, 
underneath,  the  thread  of  blood  wasn't  in  the  slightest  dis 
turbed  ;  so,  of  course,  I  knew  the  seal  had  been  put  on  quite 
a  long  time  after  the  man  was  dead — not  until  the  blood 
had  dried  thoroughly,  to  a  crust,  you  know,  so  that  even 
the  damp  surface  of  the  sticky  side  of  the  seal  hadn't  af 
fected  it.  And  then,  I  took  a  dislike  to  Clayton  somehow — 
and  put  two  and  two  together,  and  took  a  flyer  in  getting 
him  to  handle  the  notebook.  I  guess  that's  all — no  other 
reason  on  earth.  Jolly  lucky,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

Carruthers  didn't  say  anything  for  a  moment.  When  he 
spoke,  it  was  irrelevantly. 

"  You  saved  me  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  on  that  re 
ward,  Jimmie." 

"  That's  the  only  thing  I  regret,"  said  Jimmie  Dale 
brightly.  "  It  wasn't  nice  of  you,  Carruthers,  to  turn  on  the 
Gray  Seal  that  way.  And  it  strikes  me  you  owe  the  chap, 
whoever  he  is,  a  pretty  emphatic  exoneration  after  what  you 
said  in  this  morning's  edition." 


60      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Jimmie,"  said  Carruthers  earnestly.  "  You  know  what  i 
thought  of  him  before.  It's  like  a  new  lease  of  life  to  get 
back  one's  faith  in  him.  You  leave  it  to  me.  I'll  put  the 
Gray  Seal  on  a  pedestal  to-morrow  that  will  be  worthy  of 
the  immortals — you  leave  it  to  me." 

And  Carruthers  kept  his  word.  Also,  before  the  paper  had 
been  an  hour  off  the  press,  Carruthers  received  a  letter.  It 
thanked  Carruthers  quite  genuinely,  even  if  couched  in 
somewhat  facetious  terms,  for  his  "  sweeping  vindication," 
twitted  him  gently  for  his  "  backsliding,"  begged  to  remain 
M  his  gratefully,"  and  in  lieu  of  signature  there  was  a  graf- 
idoured  piece  of  paper  shaped  like  this : 


Only  there  were  no  finger  prints  oii  it 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  MOTHER  LODE 

TT  was  the  following  evening,  and  they  had  dined  together 
again  at  the  St.  James  Club — Jimmie  Dale,  and  Car- 
ruthers  of  the  Morning  News-Argus.  From  Clayton  and  a 
discussion  of  the  Metzer  murder,  the  conversation  had 
turned,  not  illogically,  upon  the  physiognomy  of  criminals  in 
general.  Jimmie  Dale,  lazily  ensconced  now  in  a  lounging 
chair  in  one  of  the  club's  private  library  rooms,  flicked  a 
minute  speck  of  cigar  ash  from  the  sleeve  of  his  dinner 
jacket,  and  smiled  whimsically  across  the  table  at  his  friend. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  there's  a  lot  in  physiognomy,  Carruthers," 
he  drawled.  "  Never  studied  the  thing,  you  know — that  is, 
from  the  standpoint  of  crime.  Personally,  I've  only  got 
one  prejudice :  I  distrust,  on  principle,  the  man  who  wears 
a  perennial  and  pompous  smirk — which  isn't,  of  course, 
strictly  speaking,  physiognomy  at  all.  You  see,  a  man  can't 
help  his  eyes  being  beady  or  his  nose  pronounced,  but  pom 
posity  and  a  smirk,  now "  Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his 

shoulders. 

Carruthers  laughed — and  then  glanced  ludicrously  at  Jim 
mie  Dale,  as  the  door,  ajar,  was  pushed  open,  and  a  man  en 
tered. 

"  Speaking  of  angels,"  murmured  Jimmie  Dale — and  sat 
up  in  his  chair.  "  Hello,  Markel ! "  he  observed  casually. 
"  You've  met  Carruthers,  of  the  News-Argus,  haven't  you?  " 

Markel  was  fat  and  important;  he  had  beady  black  eyes, 
fastidiously  trimmed  whiskers — and  a  pronounced  smirk- 

Markel  blew  his  nose  vigorously,  coughed  asthmatically, 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Of  course,  certainly,"  said  he  effusively.     "  I've  met 

61 


62      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Carruthers  several  times— used  his  sheet  more  than  once  t« 
advertise  a  new  bond  flotation." 

The  dominant  note  in  Market's  voice  was  an  ingratiat 
ing  and  unpleasant  whine,  and  Carruthers  nodded,  not  very 
cordially — and  shook  hands. 

Markel  went  back  to  the  door,  closed  it  carefully,  and  re 
turned  to  the  table. 

"  Fact  is,"  he  smiled  confidentially,  "  I  saw  you  two  come 
in  here  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  I've  got  something  that  I 
thought  Carruthers  might  be  glad  to  have  for  his  society 
column — say,  in  the  Sunday  edition." 

He  dove  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  produced  a 
large  morocco  leather  jeweller's  case,  and,  holding  it  out 
over  the  table  between  Carruthers  and  Jimmie  Dale,  suddenly 
snapped  the  cover  open — and  then,  with  a  complacent  little 
chuckle  that  terminated  in  another  fit  of  coughing,  spilled 
the  contents  on  the  table  under  the  electric  reading  lamp. 

Like  a  thing  of  living,  pulsing  fire  it  rolled  before  then 
eyes — a  magnificent  diamond  necklace,  of  wondrous  beauty, 
gleaming  and  scintillating  as  the  light  rays  shot  back  from  a 
thousand  facets. 

For  a  moment,  both  men  gazed  at  it  without  a  word. 

"  Little  surprise  for  my  wife,"  volunteered  Markel,  with 
a  debonair  wave  of  his  pudgy  hand,  and  trying  to  make  his 
voice  sound  careless. 

The  case  lay  open — patently  displaying  the  name  of  the 
most  famous  jewelry  house  in  America.  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes 
fixed  on  Markel's  whiskers  where  they  were  brushed  out 
ward  in  an  ornate  and  fastidious  gray-black  sweep. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  commented.  "  You  don't  do  things  by 
halves,  do  you,  Markel?  " 

"  Two  hundred  and  ten  thousand  dollars  I  paid  for  that 
little  bunch  of  gewgaws,"  said  Markel,  waving  his  hand 
again.  Then  he  clapped  Carruthers  heartily  on  the  shoulder. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Carruthers — eh  ?  Say,  a  photo 
graph  of  it,  and  one  of  Mrs.  Markel — eh  t  Please  her,  you 
know — she's  crazy  on  this  society  stunt — all  flubdub  to  me, 
of  cours*.  How's  it  strike  you,  Carruthers  ?  " 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  63 

Carruthers,  very  evidently,  liked  neither  the  man  nor  his 
manners,  but  Carruthers,  above  everything  else,  was  a  gentle 
man. 

"  To  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Markel,"  he  said  a 
little  frigidly,  "  1  don't  believe  in  this  sort  of  thing.  It's 
all  right  from  a  newspaper  standpoint,  and  we  do  it ;  but  it's 
just  in  this  way  that  owners  of  valuable  jewelry  lay  them 
selves  open  to  theft.  It  simply  amounts  to  advising  every 
crook  in  the  country  that  you  have  a  quarter  of  a  million  at 
his  disposal,  which  he  can  carry  away  in  his  vest  pocket,  once 
he  can  get  his  hands  on  it— and  you  invite  him  to  try." 

Jimmie  Dale  laughed.  "  What  Carruthers  means,  Mar 
kel,  is  that  you'll  have  the  Gray  Seal  down  your  street. 
Carruthers  talks  of  crooks  generally,  but  he  thinks  in  terms 
of  only  one.  He  can't  help  it.  He's  been  trying  so  long  to 
catch  the  chap  that  it's  become  an  obsession.  Eh,  Carru 
thers?" 

Carruthers  smiled  seriously.  "  Perhaps,"  he  admitted, 
"  I  hope,  though,  for  Mr.  Market's  sake,  that  the  Gray  Seal 
won't  take  a  fancy  to  it — if  he  does,  Mr.  Markel  can  say 
good-bye  to  his  necklace." 

"  Pouf  1 "  coughed  Markel  arrogantly.  "  Overrated !  His 
cleverness  is  all  in  the  newspaper  columns.  If  he  knows 
what's  good  for  him,  he'll  know  enough  to  leave  this 
alone." 

Jimmie  Dale  was  leaning  over  the  table  poking  gingerly 
with  the  tip  of  his  forefinger  at  the  centre  stone  in  the  setting, 
revolving  it  gently  to  and  fro  in  the  light — a  very  large  stone, 
whose  weight  would  hardly  be  less  than  fifteen  carats. 
Jimmie  Dale  lowered  his  head  for  a  closer  examination — 
and  to  hide  a  curious,  mocking  little  gleam  that  crept  into 
his  dark  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  should  say  you're  right,  Markel,"  he  agreed 
judicially.  "  He  ought  to  know  better  than  to  touch  this. 
It — it  would  be  too  hard  to  dispose  of." 

"  I'm  not  worrying,"  declared  Markel  importantly. 

"  No,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Two  hundred  and  ten  thott* 
sand,  you  said.  Any  special — er — significance  to  the  occa- 


sion,  if  the  question's  not  impertinent?    Birthday,  wedding 
anniversary — or  something  like  that  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing  like  that !  "  Markel  grinned,  winked  secre 
tively,  and  rubbed  his  hands  together.  "  I'm  feeling  good, 
that's  all — I'm  going  to  make  the  killing  of  my  life  to 
morrow." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale. 

Markel  turned  to  Carruthers.  "  I'll  let  you  in  on  that,  too, 
Carruthers,  in  a  day  or  two,  if  you'll  send  a  reporter  around 
— financial  man,  you  know.  It'll  be  worth  your  while.  And 
now,  how  about  this?  What  do  you  say  to  a  little  article 
and  the  photos  next  Sunday  ?  " 

There  was  a  slight  hint  of  rising  colour  in  Carruthers' 
face. 

"If  you'll  send  them  to  the  society  editor,  I've  no  doubt 
he'll  be  able  to  use  them,"  he  said  brusquely. 

"  Right ! "  said  Markel,  and  coughed,  and  patted  Car 
ruthers'  shoulder  patronisingly  again.  "  I'll  just  do  that 
little  tK-ng."  He  picked  up  the  necklace,  dangled  it  till  it 
flashed  an  flashed  again  under  the  light,  then  restored  it 
very  osteniat.oudy  to  its  case,  and  the  case  to  his  pocket, 
"  Thanks  awfully,  Carruthers,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  from  his 
chair.  "  See  you  again,  Dale.  Good-night !  " 

Carruthers  glared  at  the  door  as  it  closed  behind  the 
man. 

"  Say  it !  "  prodded  Jimmie  Dale  sweetly.  "  Don't  feel 
restrained  because  you  are  a  guest — I  absolve  you  in  ad 
vance." 

"  Rotter!  "  said  Carruthers. 

"  Well,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  softly.  "  You  see — Car 
ruthers  ? " 

Carruthers'  match  crackled  savagely  as  he  lighted  a  cigar. 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  he  growled.  "  But  I  don't  see — you'll 
pardon  my  saying  so — how  vulgarity  like  that  ever  acquired 
membership  in  the  St.  James  Club." 

"  Carruthers,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  plaintively,  "  you  ought  t6 
know  better  than  that.  You  know,  to  begin  with,  since  it 
seems  he  has  advertised  with  you,  that  he  runs  some  sort 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  65 

of  brokerage  business  in  Boston.  He's  taken  a  summei 
home  up  here  on  Long  Island,  and  some  misguided  chap  put 
him  on  the  club's  visitor's  list.  His  card  will  not  be  renewed. 
Sleek  customer,  isn't  he  ?  Trifle  familiar — I  was  only  intro 
duced  to  him  last  night.'* 

Carruthers  grunted,  broke  his  burned  match  into  pieces, 
and  began  to  toss  the  pieces  into  an  ash  tray. 

Jimmie  Dale  became  absorbed  in  an  inspection  of  his 
hands — those  wonderful  hands  with  long,  slim,  tapering 
fingers,  whose  clean,  pink  flesh  masked  a  strength  and  power 
that  was  like  to  a  steel  vise. 

Jimmie  Dale  looked  up.  "  Going  to  print  a  nice  little  story 
for  him  about  the  *  costliest  and  most  beautiful  necklace  in 
America  '  ?  "  he  inquired  innocently. 

Carruthers  scowled.  "  No,"  he  said  bluntly.  "  I  am  not. 
He'll  read  the  Nezvs-Argus  a  long  time  before  he  reads  any 
thing  about  that,  Jimmie." 

But  therein  Carruthers  was  wrong — the  News-Argus 
carried  the  "  story  "  of  Market's  diamond  necklace  in  three- 
inch  "  caps  "  in  red  ink  on  the  front  page  in  the  next  morn 
ing's  edition — and  Carruthers  gloated  over  it  because  the 
snorning  News-Argus  was  the  only  paper  in  New  York  that 
did,  Carruthers  was  to  hear  more  of  Markel  and  Markel's 
necklace  than  he  thought,  though  for  the  time  being  the  sub 
ject  dropped  between  the  two  men. 

It  was  still  early,  barely  ten  o'clock,  when  Carruthers  left 
the  club,  and,  preferring  to  walk  to  the  newspaper  offices, 
refused  Jimmie  Dale's  offer  of  his  limousine.  It  was  but 
five  minutes  later  when  Jimmie  Dale,  after  chatting  for  a 
moment  or  two  with  tho^-e  about  in  the  lobby,  in  turn  sought 
the  coat  room,  where  Markel  was  being  assisted  into  his 
coat. 

"  Getting  home  early,  aren't  you,  Markel  ? "  remarked 
Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Markel,  and  ran  his  fingers  fussily,  comb 
fashion,  through  his  whiskers.  "  Quite  a  little  run  out  to 
my  place,  you  know — and  with,  you  know  whatv  I  don't  vre 
3©  be  out  too  late." 


S6      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JHIMIE  DALE 

"  No,  of  course,"  concurred  Jimmie  Dale,  getting  into  hii 
own  coat. 

They  walked  out  of  the  club  together,  and  Markel  climbed 
importantly  into  the  tonneau  of  a  big  gray  touring  car. 

"  Ah — home,  Peters,"  he  sniffed  at  his  chauffeur ;  and  then, 
with  a  grandiloquent  wave  of  his  hand  to  Jimmie  Dale: 
*'Night,  Dale." 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled  with  his  eyes — which  were  hidden 
by  the  brim  of  his  hat. 

"  Good-night,  Markel,"  he  replied,  and  the  smile  crept 
curiously  to  the  corners  of  his  mouth  as  he  watched  the 
gray  car  disappear  down  the  street. 

A  limousine  drew  up,  and  Benson,  Jimmie  Dale's  chauf 
feur,  opened  the  door. 

"  Home,  Mr.  Dale  ?  "  he  asked  cheerily,  touching  his  cap. 

"  Yes,  Benson — home,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  absently,  and 
Stepped  into  the  car. 

It  was  a  luxurious  car,  as  everything  that  belonged  to 
Jimmie  Dale  was  luxurious — and  he  leaned  back  luxuriously 
on  the  cushions,  extended  his  legs  luxuriously  to  their  full 
length,  plunged  his  hands  into  his  overcoat  pockets — and 
then  a  change  stole  strangely,  slowly  over  Jimmie  Dale. 

The  sensitive  fingers  of  his  right  hand  in  the  pocket  had 
touched,  and  now  played  delicately  over  a  sealed  envelope 
that  they  had  found  there,  played  over  it  as  though  indeed 
by  the  sense  of  touch  alone  they  could  read  the  contents— 
and  he  drew  his  body  gradually  erect. 

It  was  another  of  those  mysterious  missives  from — her, 
The  texture  of  the  paper  was  invariably  the  same — like  this 
one.  How  had  it  come  there?  Collusion  with  the  coat  boy 
at  the  club?  That  was  hardly  probable.  Perhaps  it  had 
been  there  before  he  had  entered  the  club  for  dinner — he 
remembered,  now.  that  there  had  been  several  people  passing, 
and  that  he  had  been  jostled  slightly  in  crossing  the  side* 
walk.  What,  however,  did  it  matter?  It  was  ther* 
mysteriously,  as  scores  of  others  had  come  to  him  mystc- 
rously.  with  never  a  clew  to  her  identity,  to  the  identity  &t 
*ii«, — he  smiled  a  little  grimly — accomplice  in  crime 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  67 

He  took  the  envelope  from  his  pocket  and  stared  at  it. 
His  fingers  had  not  been  at  fault — it  was  one  of  hers.  The 
faint,  elusive,  exquisite  fragrance  of  some  rare  perfume  came 
to  him  as  he  held  it. 

"  I'd  give,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  wistfully  to  himself — "  I'd 
give  everything  I  own  to  know  who  you  are — and  some 
day,  please  God,  I  will  know." 

Jimmie  Dale  tore  the  envelope  very  gently,  as  though  the 
tearing  almost  were  an  act  of  desecration — and  extracted  the 
letter  from  within.  He  began  to  read  aloud  hurriedly  and 
in  snatches: 

"  DEAR  PHILANTHROPIC  CROOK  :  Charleton  Park  Manor- 
Markers  house  is  the  second  one  from  the  gates  on  the 
right-hand  side — library  leads  off  reception  hall  on  left,  door 
opposite  staircase — telephone  in  reception  hall  near  vestibule 
entrance,  left-hand  side — safe  is  one  of  your  father's  make, 
No.  14,321 — clothes  closet  behind  the  desk — probably  will 
be  kept  in  cash  box — five  servants ;  two  men,  three  maids — ' 
quarters  on  top  story — Markel  and  wife  occupy  room  ovei 
library — French  windows  to  dining  room  on  opposite  side  of 
the  house — opening  on  the  lawn — get  it  to-night,  Jimmie — 
to-morrow  would  be  too  late — dispose  of  it — see  fit — Henry 
Wilbur,  Marshall  Building,  Broadway — fifth  story " 

Through  the  glass-panelled  front  of  the  car,  Jimmie  Dale 
could  see  his  chauffeur's  back,  and  the  hand  that  held  the 
letter  dropped  now  to  his  side,  and  Jimmie  Dale  stared — 
at  his  chauffeur's  back.  Then,  presently,  he  read  the  letter 
again,  as  though  committing  it  to  memory  now;  and  then, 
tearing  the  paper  into  tiny  shreds,  as  he  did  with  every  one 
of  her  communications,  he  reached  out  of  the  window  and 
allowed  the  little  pieces  to  filter  gradually  from  his  hand. 

The  Gray  Seal!  He  smiled  in  his  whimsical  way.  If  it 
were  ever  known !  He,  Jimmie  Dale,  with  his  social  stand 
ing,  his  wealth,  his  position — the  Gray  Seal !  Not  a  police 
official,  not  a  secret-service  bureau  probably  in  the  civilised 
world,  but  knew  the  name — not  a  man,  woman,  or  child 


68      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

certainly  in  this  great  city  around  him  but  to  whom  it  was 
as  familiar  as  their  own!  Danger?  Yes.  A  battle  of  wits? 
Yes.  His  against  everybody's — even  against  Carruthers'J, 
his  old  college  chum !  For,  even  as  a  reporter,  before  he  had 
risen  to  the  editorial  desk,  and  even  now  that  he  had,  Car- 
ruthers  had  been  one  of  the  keenest  on  the  scent  of  the  Gray 
Seal. 

Danger  ?  Yes.  But  it  was  worth  it !  Worth  it  a  thousand 
times  for  the  very  lure  of  the  danger  itself ;  but  worth  it 
most  of  all  for  his  association  with  her  who,  by  some  amaz 
ing  means,  verging  indeed  on  the  miraculous,  came  into  touch 
with  all  these  things,  and  supplied  him  with  the  data  on 
which  to  work — that  always  some  wrong  might  be  righted, 
or  gladness  come  where  there  had  been  gloom  before,  or  hope 
where  there  had  been  despair — that  into  some  fellow 
human's  heart  should  come  a  gleam  of  sunshine.  Yes,  in 
spite  of  the  howls  of  the  police,  the  virulent  diatribes  of  the 
press,  an  angry  public  screaming  for  his  arrest,  conviction, 
and  punishment,  there  were  those  perhaps  who  even  on  their 
bended  knees  at  night  asked  God's  blessing  on — the  Gray 
Seal! 

Was  it  strange,  then,  after  all,  that  the  police,  seeking  a 
clew  through  motive,  should  have  been  driven  to  frenzy  on 
every  occasion  in  finding  themselves  forever  confronted  with 
what,  from  every  angle  they  were  able  to  view  it,  was  quite 
a  purposeless  crime !  On  one  point  only  they  were  right, 
the  old  dogma,  the  old,  old  cry,  old  as  the  institution  oi 
police,  older  than  that,  old  since  time  immemorial — cherchez 
la  femme!  Quite  right — but  also  quite  purposeless  !  Jimmic 
Dale's  eyes  grew  wistful.  He  had  been  "  hunting  for  the 
woman  in  the  case  "  himself,  now,  for  months  and  years 
indefatigably,  using  every  resource  at  his  command — quite 
purposelessly. 

Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Whv  go  over  all 
this  to-night — there  were  other  things  to  do.  She  had  come 
to  him  again — and  this  time  with  a  matter  that  entailed  more 
than  ordinary  difficulty,  more  than  usual  danger,  that  would 
tax  his  wits  and  his  skill  to  the  utmost,  not  only  to  succeed^ 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  69 

but  to  get  out  of  it  himself  with  a  whole  skin.  Markel — eh  ? 
Jimmie  Dale  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  clasped  his  hands  be 
hind  his  head — and  his  eyes,  half  closed  now,  were  study 
ing  Benson's  back  again  through  the  plate-glass  front. 

He  was  still  sitting  in  that  position  as  the  car  approached 
his  residence  on  Riverside  Drive — but,  as  it  came  to  a  stop, 
and  Benson  opened  the  door,  it  was  a  very  alert  Jimmie 
Dale  that  stepped  to  the  sidewalk. 

"  Benson,"  he  said  crisply,  "  I  am  going  downtown  again 
later  on,  but  I  shall  drive  myself.  Bring  the  touring  car 
around  and  leave  it  in  front  of  the  house.  I'll  run  k  into  the 
garage  when  I  get  back — you  need  not  wait  up." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Benson. 

In  the  hallway,  Jason,  the  butler,  who  had  been  butler  to 
Jimmie  Dale's  father  before  him,  took  Jimmie  Dale's  hat 
and  coat. 

"  It's  a  fine  evening,  Master  Jim,"  said  the  privileged  old 
man  affectionately. 

Jimmie  Dale  took  out  his  silver  cigarette  case,  selected  a 
cigarette,  tapped  it  daintily  on  the  cover  of  the  case — and 
accepted  the  match  the  old  man  hastily  produced. 

"  Yes,  Jason."  said  Jimmie  Dale,  pleasantly  facetious,  "  it 
is  A  fine  night,  a  glorious  night,  moon  and  stars  and  a  balmy 
breeze — quite  too  fine,  indeed,  to  remain  indoors.  In  fact, 
you  might  lay  out  my  gray  ulster;  I  think  I  will  go  for  a 
spin  presently,  when  I  have  changed." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jason.    "  Anything  else,  Master  Jim  ?  '* 

*  No ;  that's  all,  Jason.  Don't  sit  up  for  me — you  may  go 
to  bed  now." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  man. 

Jimmie  Dale  went  upstairs,  opened  the  door  of  his  own 
particular  den  on  the  right  of  the  landing,  stepped  inside, 
closed  the  door,  switched  on  the  light — and  Jimmie  Dale's 
debonair  nonchalance  dropped  from  him  as  a  mask  instantly 
- — and  it  was  another  Jimmie  Dale — the  professional  Jimmie 
Dale. 

Quick  now  in  every  action,  he  swung  aside  the  portiere 
that  curtained  off  the  squat,  barrel-shaped  safe  in  the  little 


70      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

alcove,  opened  the  safe,  took  out  that  curious  leather  girdto 
with  its  kit  of  burglar's  tools,  added  to  it  a  flashlight  and  an 
automatic  revolver,  closed  the  safe — and  passed  into  his 
dressing  room.  Here,  he  proceeded  to  divest  himself  rapidly 
ot  his  evening  clothes,  selecting  in  their  stead  a  suit  of  dark 
tweed.  He  heard  Jason  come  up  the  stairs,  pass  along  the 
hall,  and  mount  the  second  flight  to  his  own  quarters ;  and 
presently  came  the  sound  of  an  automobile  without.  The 
dressing  room  fronted  on  the  Drive — Jimmie  Dale  looked 
out.  Benson  was  just  getting  out  of  the  touring  car.  Slipping 
the  leather  girdle,  then,  around  his  waist,  Jimmie  Dale  put 
on  his  vest,  then  his  coat — and  walked  briskly  downstairs. 

Jason  had  laid  out  a  gray  ulster  on  the  hall  stand.  Jimmie 
Dale  put  it  on,  selected  a  leather  cap  with  motor-goggle  at 
tachment  that  pulled  down  almost  to  the  tip  of  his  nose, 
tucked  a  slouch  hat  into  the  pocket  of  the  ulster,  and,  leaving 
£**e  house,  climbed  into  his  car. 

He  glanced  at  his  watch  as  he  started — it  was  a  quarter  of 
eleven.  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  pursed  a  little. 

"  I  guess  it'll  make  a  night  of  it,  and  a  tight  squeeze,  at 
that,  to  get  back  under  cover  before  daylight,"  he  muttered. 

I'll  have  to  do  some  tall  speeding." 

But  at  first,  across  the  city  and  through  Brooklyn,  for  all 
his  impatience,  it  was  necessarily  slow — after  that,  Jimmie 
Dale  took  chances,  and,  once  on  the  country  roads  of  Long 
Island,  the  big,  powerful  car  tore  through  the  night  like  a 
greyhound  whose  leash  is  slipped. 

A  half  hour  passed — Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  shifting  occa 
sionally  from  the  gray  thread  of  road  ahead  of  him  onder 
the  glare  of  the  dancing  lamps,  to  the  road  map  spread  out 
at  his  feet,  upon  which,  from  time  to  time,  he  focused  his 
pocket  flashlight.  And  then,  finally,  he  slowed  the  car  to  a 
snail's  pace — he  should  be  very  near  his  destination — that 
very  ultra-exclusive  subdivision  of  Charleton  Park  Manor. 

On  either  side  of  the  road  now  was  quite  a  thickly  set 
stretch  of  wooded  land,  rising  slightly  on  the  right — and 
this  Jimmie  Dale  scrutinised  sharply.  In  fact,  he  stopped 
for  an  instant  as  he  came  opposite  to  a  wagon  track — it 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  71 

*eemed  to  be  little  more  than  that — that  led  in  through  the 
trees. 

"  If  it's  not  too  far  from  the  seat  of  war,"  commented 
Jimmie  Dale  to  himself,  as  he  went  on  again,  "  it  will  do 
admirably." 

And  then,  a  hundred  yards  farther  on,  Jimmie  Dale 
nodded  his  head  in  satisfaction — he  was  passing  the  rather 
ornate  stone  pillars  that  marked  the  entrance  to  Charleton 
Park  Manor,  and  on  which  the  initial  promoters  of  the 
subdivision,  the  real-estate  people,  had  evidently  deemed  it 
good  advertising  policy  to  expend  a  small  fortune. 

Another  hundred  yards  farther  on,  Jimmie  Dale  turned 
his  car  around  and  returned  past  the  gates  to  the  wagon 
track  again.  The  road  was  deserted — not  a  car  nor  a  vehicle 
of  any  description  was  in  sight.  Jimmie  Dale  made  sure  of 
that — and  in  another  instant  Jimmie  Dale's  own  car,  every 
light  extinguished,  had  vanished — he  had  backed  it  up  the 
wagon  track,  just  far  enough  in  for  the  trees  to  screen  it 
thoroughly  from  the  main  road. 

Nor  did  Jimmie  Dale  himself  appear  again  on  the  main 
road — until  just  as  he  emerged  close  to  the  gates  of  Charleton 
Park  Manor  from  a  short  cut  through  the  woods.  Also,  he 
was  without  his  ulster  now,  and  the  slouch  hat  had  replaced 
the  motor  cap. 

Jimmie  Dale,  in  the  moonlight,  took  stock  of  his  surround 
ings,  as  he  passed  in  at  a  businesslike  walk  through  the 
gates.  It  was  a  large  park,  if  that  name  could  properly  be 
applied  to  it  at  all,  and  the  houses — he  caught  sight  of  one 
set  back  from  the  driveway  on  the  right — were  quite  far 
apart,  each  in  its  own  rather  spacious  grounds  among  the 
trees. 

"  The  second  house  on  the  right,"  her  letter  had  saidc 
Jimmie  Dale  had  already  passed  the  first  one — the  next 
would  be  Markel's  then — and  it  loomed  ahead  of  him  now, 
black  and  shadowy  and  unlighted. 

Jimmie  Dale  shot  a  glance  around  him — there  was  stillness, 
quiet  everywhere — no  sign  of  life — no  sound. 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  became  tense,  his  lips  tight — and  hr 


72      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

stepped  suddenly  from  ihe  sidewalk  in  among  the  trees. 
They  were  not  thick  here,  of  course,  the  trees,  and  the  turf 
beneath  his  feet  was  well  kept — and,  therefore,  soundless. 
He  moved  quickly  now,  but  cautiously,  from  tree  to  tree, 
for  the  moonlight,  flooding  the  lawn  and  house,  threw  all 
objects  into  bold  relief. 

A  minute,  two,  three  went  by — and  a  shadow  flitted  here 
and  there  across  the  light-green  sward,  like  the  moving  of 
the  trees  swaying  in  the  breeze — and  then  Jimmie  Dale  was 
standing  close  up  against  one  side  of  the  house,  hidden  by 
the  protecting  black  shadows  of  the  walls. 

But  here,  for  a  moment,  Jimmie  Dale  seemed  little  oc 
cupied  with  the  house  itself — he  was  staring  down  past  its 
length  to  where  the  woods  made  a  heavy,  dark  background  at 
the  rear.  Then  he  turned  his  head,  to  face  directly  to  the 
main  road,  then  back  again  slowly,  as  though  measuring 
an  angle.  Jimmie  Dale  had  no  intention  of  making  his 
escape  by  the  roundabout  way  in  which  he  had  been  forced 
to  come  in  order  to  make  certain  of  locating  the  right  house, 
the  second  one  from  the  gates — and  he  was  getting  the 
bearings  of  his  car  and  the  wagon  track  now. 

"  I  guess  that'll  be  about  right,"  Jimmie  Dale  muttered 
finally.  "  And  now  for " 

He  slipped  along  the  side  of  the  house  and  halted  where, 
almost  on  a  level  with  the  ground,  the  French  windows  of 
the  dining  room  opened  on  the  lawn.  Jimmie  Dale  tried 
them  gently.  They  were  locked. 

An  indulgent  smile  crept  to  Jimmie  Dale's  lips — and  his 
hand  crept  in  under  his  vest.  It  came  out  again — not  empty 
• — and  Jimmie  Dale  leaned  close  against  the  window.  There 
was  a  faint,  almost  inaudible,  scratching  sound,  then  a  slight, 
brittle  crack — and  Jimmie  Dale  laid  a  neat  little  four-inch 
square  of  glass  on  the  ground  at  his  feet.  Through  the 
aperture  he  reached  in  his  hand,  turned  the  key  that  was  in 
the  lock,  turned  the  bolt-rod  handle,  pushed  the  doors  silently 
open — wide  open — left  them  open — and  stepped  into  the 
room. 

He  could  see  quite  well  within,  thanks  to  the  moonlight. 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  78 

Jlmmie  Dale  produced  a  black  silk  mask  from  one  of  the 
little  leather  pockets,  adjusted  it  carefully  over  his  face,  and 
crossed  the  room  to  the  hall  door.  He  opened  this — wide 
open — left  it  open — and  entered  the  hall. 

Here  it  was  dark — a  pitch  blackness.  He  stood  for  a 
moment,  listening — utter  silence.  And  then — alert,  strained, 
tense  in  an  instant,  Jimmie  Dale  crouched  against  the  wall— 
and  then  he  smiled  a  little  grimly.  It  was  only  some  one 
coughing  upstairs — Markel — in  his  sleep,  perhaps,  or,  per 
haps — in  wakefulness. 

"  I'm  a  fool !  "  confided  Jimmie  Dale  to  himself,  as  he 
recognised  the  cough  that  he  had  heard  at  the  club.  "  And 
yet — I  don't  know.  One's  nerves  get  sort  of  taut.  Pretty 
stiff  business.  If  I'm  ever  caught,  the  penitentiary  sentence 
I  get  will  be  the  smallest  part  of  what's  to  pay." 

A  round  button  of  light  played  along  the  wall  from  the 
flashlight  in  his  hand — just  for  an  instant — and  all  was 
blackness  again.  But  in  that  instant  Jimmie  Dale  was  across 
the  hall,  and  his  fingers  were  tracing  the  telephone  connec 
tion  from  the  instrument  to  where  the  wires  disappeared  in 
the  baseboard  of  the  floor.  Another  instant,  and  he  had 
severed  the  wires  with  a  pair  of  nippers. 

Again  the  quick,  firefly  gleam  of  light  to  locate  the  stair 
case  and  the  library  door  opposite  to  it — and,  moving  with 
out  the  slightest  noise,  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  was  on  the 
door  itself.  Again  he  paused  to  listen.  All  was  silence 
now. 

The  door  swung  under  his  hand,  and,  left  open  behind 
him,  he  was  in  the  room.  The  flashlight  winked  once— 
suspiciously.  Then  he  snapped  its  little  switch,  keeping  the 
current  on,  and  the  ray  dodged  impudently  here  and  there 
all  over  the  apartment. 

The  safe  was  set  in  a  sort  of  clothes  closet  behind  the 
desk,  she  had  said.  Yes,  there  it  was — the  door,  at  least. 
Jimmie  Dale  moved  toward  it — and  paused  as  his  light  swept 
the  top  of  the  intervening  desk.  A  mass  of  papers,  books, 
and  correspondence  littered  it  untidily.  The  yellow  sheet  of 
&  telegram  caught  Jimmie  Dale's  eye. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

He  picked  it  up  and  glanced  at  it.    It  read  : 

"  Vein    uncovered    to-day.     Undoubtedly   mother 
Enormously  rich.    Put  the  screws  on  at  once. 


Under  the  mask,  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  twitched. 

"  A  think,  Markel,  you  miserable  hound,"  said  he  softly, 
*"  that  God  will  forgive  me  for  depriving  you  of  a  s/iare  of 
"die  profits.  Two  hundred  and  ten  thousand,  I  think  it  was, 
you  said  the  sparklers  cost."  A  curious  little  sound  came 
from  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  —  like  a  chuckle. 

Jimmie  Dale  tossed  the  telegram  bpck  on  the  desk,  moved 
on  behind  the  desk,  opened  the  door  of  the  closet  that  had 
been  metamorphosed  into  a  vault  —  and  the  white  light 
travelled  slowly,  searchingly,  critically  over  the  shining  black. 
enamelled  steel,  the  nickelled  knobs,  and  dials  of  a  safe  that 
confronted  him. 

Jimmie  Dale  nodded  at  it  —  familiarly,  grimly, 

"  It's  number  one-four-three-two-one,  all  right,"  he  mur 
mured.  "  And  one  of  the  best  we  ever  made.  Pretty  tough 
But  I've  done  it  before.  Say,  half  an  hour  of  gentle  persua 
sion,  It  would  be  too  bad  to  crack  it  with  '  soup  '  —  besides, 
that's  crude  —  Carruthers  would  never  forgive  the  Gray  Seafc 
for  that  !  " 

The  light  went  out  —  blackness  fell.  Jimmie  Dale's  slim, 
sensitive  fingers  closed  on  the  dial's  knob,  his  head  touched 
the  steel  front  of  the  safe  as  he  pressed  his  ear  against 
it  for  the  tumblers'  fall. 

And  then  silence.  It  seemed  to  grow  heavier,  that  silence, 
with  each  second  —  to  palpitate  through  the  quiet  house  —  to 
grow  pregnant,  premonitory  of  dread,  of  fear  —  it  seemed  to 
throb  in  long  undulations,  and  the  stillness  grew  loud.  A 
moonbeam  filtered  in  between  the  edge  of  the  drawn  shade 
and  the  edge  of  the  window.  It  struggled  across  the  floor 
in  a  wavering  path,  strayed  over  the  desk,  and  died  away, 
shadowy  and  formless,  against  the  blackness  of  the  opened 
recess  door,  against  the  blackness  of  the  great  steel  safe. 
the  blackness  of  a  huddled  form  crouched  against  it  Only 
and  then,  in  a  strange,  projected,  wraithlike 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  75 

the  moon  ray  glinted  timidly  on  the  tip  of  a  nickel  dial, 
and,  ghostlike,  disclosed  a  human  hand. 

Upstairs,  Markel  coughed  again.  Then  from  the  safe  a 
whisper,  heavy-breathed  as  from  great  exertion : 

"Missed  it!" 

The  dial  whirled  with  faint,  musical,  little  metallic  clicks ; 
then  began  to  move  slowly  again,  very,  very  slowly.  The 
moonbeam,  as  though  petulant  at  its  own  abortive  attempt 
to  satisfy  its  curiosity,  retreated  back  across  the  floor,  and 
faded  away. 

Blackness ! 

Time  passed.  Then  from  the  safe  again,  but  now  in  a  lov» 
gasp,  a  pant  of  relief : 

"  Ah !  " 

The  ear  might  barely  catch  the  sound — it  was  as  of  metal 
sliding  in  well-oiled  grooves,  of  metal  meeting  metal  in  a 
padded  thud.  The  massive  door  swung  outward.  Jimmic 
Dale  stood  up,  easing  his  cramped  muscles,  and  flirted  the 
sweat  beads  from  his  forehead. 

After  a  moment,  he  knelt  again.  There  was  still  the  inner 
door — but  that  was  a  minor  matter  to  Jimmie  Dale  com 
pared  with  what  had  gone  before. 

Stillness  once  more — a  long  period  of  it.  And  then  again 
that  cough  from  above — a  prolonged  paroxysm  of  it  this 
time  that  went  racketing  through  the  house. 

Jimmie  Dale,  in  the  act  of  swinging  back  the  inner  door 
of  the  safe,  paused  to  listen,  and  little  furrows  under  his 
mask  gathered  on  his  forehead.  The  coughing  stopped. 
Jimmie  Dale  waited  a  moment,  still  listening — then  his  flash 
light  bored  into  the  interior  of  the  safe. 

"  The  cash  box,  probably,"  quoted  Jimmie  Dale,  beneath 
his  breath — and  picked  it  up  from  where  it  lay  in  the  bottom 
compartment  of  the  safe. 

The  lock  snipped  under  the  insistent  probe  of  a  delicate 
little  blued-steel  instrument,  and  Jimmie  Dale  lifted  the 
cover.  There  was  a  package  of  papers  and  documents  on 
top,  held  together  with  elastic  bands.  Jimmie  Dale  spent 
«1  moment  or  two  examining  these,  then  his  ringers 


76      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIAIMIE  DALE 

down  underneath,  and  the  next  minute,  under  the  flashlight, 
the  morocco  leather  case  open,  the  diamond  necklace  was 
sparkling  and  flashing  on  its  white  satin  bed. 

"  A  tempting  little  thing,  isn't  it  ? "  said  Jimmie  Dale 
gently.  "  It  was  really  thoughtful  of  you,  Markel,  to  buy 
that  this  afternoon!" 

Jimmie  Dale  replaced  the  necklace  in  the  cash  box,  set  the 
cash  box  on  the  floor,  closed  the  inner  door  of  the  safe, 
and  swung  the  outer  door  a  little  inward — but  left  it  flaunt' 
ingly  ajar.  Then  from  a  pocket  of  the  leather  girdle  beneath 
his  vest  he  produced  his  small,  thin,  flat,  metal  case.  From 
this,  from  between  sheets  of  oil  paper,  with  the  aid  of  a 
pair  of  tweezers,  he  lifted  out  a  gray,  diamond-shaped  seal. 
Jimmie  Dale  was  apparently  fastidious.  He  held  the  seal 
with  the  tweezers  as  he  moistened  the  adhesive  side  with  his 
tongue,  laid  the  seal  on  his  handkerchief,  and  pressed  the 
handkerchief  firmly  against  the  safe — as  usual,  Jimmie 
Dale's  insignia  bore  no  finger  prints  as  it  lay  neatly  capping 
the  knob  of  the  dial. 

He  reached  down,  picked  up  the  cash  box — and  then, 
for  the  second  time  that  night,  held  suddenly  tense,  alert, 
listening,  his  every  muscle  taut.  A  door  opened  upstairs. 
There  came  a  murmur  of  voices.  Then  a  momentary  lull. 

Jimmie  Dale  listened.  Like  a  statue  he  stood  there  in  the 
black,  absolutely  motionless — his  head  a  little  forward  and 
to  one  side.  Nothing — not  a  sound.  Then  a  very  low, 
curious,  swishing  noise,  and  a  faint  creak.  Somebody  was 
coming  down  the  stairs! 

Jimmie  Dale  moved  stealthily  from  the  recess,  and  noise 
lessly  to  the  desk.  Very  faintly,  but  distinctly  now,  came 
a  pad  of  either  slippered  or  bare  feet  on  the  stairway  carpet. 
Like  a  cat,  soundless  in  his  movements,  Jimmie  Dale  crept  to 
ward  the  door  of  the  room.  Down  tl.e  stairs  came  that  pad 
of  feet ;  occasionally  came  that  swishing  sound.  Nearer  the 
door  crept  Jimmie  Dale,  and  his  lips  were  thinned  now,  his 
jaws  clamped.  How  near  were  they  together,  he  and  this 
night  prowler?  At  times  he  could  not  hear  the  other  at  all, 
and,  besides,  the  heavy  carpet  made  the  judgment  of 


77 

tsmce  an  impossibility.  If  he  could  gain  the  hall,  and,  in  the 
darkness,  elude  the  other,  the  way  of  escape  through  the 
dining  room  was  open.  And  then,  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
door,  Jimmie  Dale  halted  abruptly,  as  a  woman's  voice  rose 
querulously  from  the  hallway  above: 

"  You  are  making  a  perfect  fool  of  yourself,  Theodore 
Markel !  Come  back  here  to  bed  !  " 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  hardened  like  stone — the  answer  came 
almost  from  the  very  threshold  in  front  of  him : 

"  I  can't  sleep,  I  tell  you  " — it  was  Markel's  voice,  in  a 
disgruntled  snarl.  "  I  was  a  fool  to  bring  the  confounded 
thing  home.  I'm  going  to  take  the  library  couch  for  the 
rest  of  the  night." 

It  happened  quick,  then — quick  as  the  winking  of  an  eye. 
Two  sharp,  almost  simultaneous,  clicks  of  the  electric-light 
buttons  pressed  by  Markel,  and  the  hall  and  library  were  a 
flood  of  light — and  Jimmie  Dale  leaped  forward  to  where, 
in  dressing  gown  and  pajamas,  blankets  and  bedding  over 
one  arm,  a  revolver  dangling  in  the  other  hand,  Markel 
stood  full  before  the  door  in  the  hallway  without. 

There  was  a  wild  yell  of  terror  and  surprise  from  Markel, 
then  a  deafening  roar  and  a  spit  of  flame  from  his  revolver — • 
a  bitter,  smothered  exclamation  from  Jimmie  Dale  as  the 
cash  box  crashed  to  the  floor  from  his  left  hand,  and  he  was 
upon  the  other  like  a  tiger. 

With  the  impact,  both  men  went  to  the  floor,  grappled, 
and  rolled  over  and  over.  Half  mad  with  fear,  shock,  and 
surprise,  Markel  fought  like  a  maniac,  and  his  voice,  in 
gasping  shouts,  rang  through  the  house. 

A  minute,  two  passed — and  the  men  rolled  about  the  hall 
floor.  Markel,  over  middle  age  and  unheathily  fat,  against 
Jimmie  Dale's  six  feet  of  muscle — only  Jimmie  Dale's  left 
hand,  dripping  a  red  stream  now,  was  almost  useless. 

From  above  came  wild  confusion — women's  voices  in 
little  shrieks ;  men's  voices  shouting  in  excitement ;  doors 
opening,  running  feet.  And  then  Jimmie  Dale  had  snatched 
the  revolver  from  the  floor  where  Markel  had  dropped  it  in 
tfee  scuffle,  and  was  pressing  it  against  Markel's  forehead — 


78      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

and  Markel,  terror-stricken,  had  collapsed  in  a  flabby,  pliant 
heap. 

Jimmie  Dale,  still  covering  Markel  with  the  weapon,  stood 
up.  The  frightened  faces  of  women  protruded  over  the 
banisters  above.  The  two  men-servants,  at  best  none  too 
enthusiastically  on  the  way  down,  stopped  as  though  stunned 
as  Jimmie  Dale  swung  the  revolver  upon  them. 

Then  Jimmie  Dale  spoke — to  Markel — pointing  the 
weapon  at  Markel  again. 

"  I  don't  like  you,  Markel,"  he  said,  with  cold  impudence. 
"  The  only  decent  thing  you'll  ever  do  will  be  to  die — and  if 
those  men  of  yours  on  the  stairs  move  another  step  it  will 
be  your  death  warrant.  Do  you  understand  ?  I  would  sug 
gest  that  you  request  them  to  stay  where  they  are." 

Cold  sweat  was  on  Market's  face  as  he  stared  into  the 
muzzle  of  the  revolver,  and  his  teeth  chattered. 

"  Go  back !  "  he  screamed  hysterically  at  the  servants. 
"  Go  back !  Sit  down !  Don't  move !  Do  what  he  tells 
you!" 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  grimly.  "  Now,  get  up 
yourself ! " 

Markel  got  up. 

Jimmie  Dale  backed  to  the  library  door,  picked  up  tha 
cash  box,  tucked  it  under  his  left  armpit,  and  faced  those 
on  the  stairs. 

"  Mr.  Markel  and  I  are  going  out  for  a  little  walk,"  he 
announced  coolly.  "If  one  of  you  make  a  move  or  raise 
an  alarm  before  your  master  comes  back,  I  shall  be  obliged, 
in  self-defence,  to  shoot — Mr.  Markel.  Mr.  Markel  quite 
understands  that — I  am  sure.  Do  you  not,  Mr.  Markel  ?  " 

"Helen,"  screamed  Markel  to  his  wife,  "don't  let  'em 
move !  For  God's  sake,  do  as  he  says !  " 

Jimmie  Dale's  lips,  just  showing  beneath  the  edge  of  his 
mask,  broadened  in  a  pleasant  little  smile. 

"  Will  you  lead  the  way,  Mr.  Markel  ?  "  he  requested,  with 
ironic  deference.  "  Through  the  dining  room,  please.  Yes, 
that's  right !  " 

Markel  walked  weakly  into  the  dining  room,  and  Jimmi* 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  7& 

Dale  followed.  A  prod  in  the  back  from  the  revolver 
muzzle,  and  Markel  stepped  through  the  French  windows 
and  out  on  the  lawn.  Jimmie  Dale  faced  the  other  toward  the 
woods  at  the  rear  of  the  house. 

"  Go  on ! "  Jimmie  Dale's  voice  was  curt  now,  uncom 
promising.  "  And  step  lively !  " 

They  passed  on  along  the  side  of  the  house  and  in  among 
the  trees.  Fifty  yards  or  so  more,  and  Jimmie  Dale  halted 
He  backed  Markel  up  against  a  large  tree — not  over 
gently. 

"  I — I  say  " — Market's  teeth  were  going  like  castanets, 

**  T  .** 

"  You'll  oblige  me  by  keeping  your  mouth  shut,"  observed 
Jimmie  Dale  politely — and  he  whipped  the  cord  of  Market's 
dressing  gown  loose  and  began  to  tie  the  man  to  the  tree 
**You  have  many  unpleasant  characteristics,  Markel — your 
voice  is  one  of  them.  Shall  I  repeat  that  I  do  not  like  you  ?  " 
He  stepped  to  the  back  of  the  tree.  "  Pardon  me  if  I  draw 
this  uncomfortably  tight.  I  don't  think  you  can  reach  around 
to  the  knot.  No  ?  The  trunk  is  too  large  ?  Quite  so  1 " 
He  stepped  around  to  face  Markel  again — the  man  was 
thoroughly  frightened,  his  face  was  livid,  his  jaw  sagged 
weakly,  and  his  eyes  followed  every  movement  of  the 
revolver  in  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  in  a  sort  of  miserable  fascina 
tion.  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  unhappily.  "  I  am  going  to  do 
something,  Markel,  that  I  should  advise  no  other  man  to  do 
- — I  am  going  to  put  you  on  your  honour!  For  the  next 
fifteen  minutes  you  are  not  to  utter  a  sound.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"  Y-yes,  said  Markel  hoarsely. 

"  No,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  sadly,  "  I  don*  think  you  doc 
Let  me  be  painfully  explicit.  If  you  break  your  vow  of 
silence  by  so  much  as  a  second,  then  to-morrow,  or  the  next 
day,  or  the  day  after,  at  my  convenience,  Markel,  you  and  T 
will  meet  again — for  the  last  time.  There  can  be  no  possible 
misapprehension  on  your  part  now — Markel?" 

*  N-no  " — Markel  could  scarcely  chatter  out  the  word 

*  Quite  so,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  velvet  tones.    He  sto«5 


30      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

*or  an  instant  looking  at  tne  other  with  cool  insolence ;  then? 
"  Good-night,  Markel  " — and  five  minutes  later  a  great  tour 
ing  car  was  tearing  New  Yorkward  over  the  Long  Island 
foads  at  express  speed. 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  as  Jimmie  Dale  swung 
the  car  into  a  cross  street  off  lower  Broadway,  and  drew 
tip  at  the  curb  beside  a  large  office  building.  He  got  out, 
cnuggled  the  cash  box  under  his  ulster,  went  around  to  the 
Broadway  entrance,  glanced  up  to  note  that  a  light  burned 
in  a  fifth-story  window,  and  entered  the  building, 

The  hallway  was  practically  in  darkness,  one  or  two  in- 
candescents  only  threw  a  dim  light  about.  Jimmie  Dale 
stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  beside  the 
elevator  well,  to  listen — if  the  watchman  was  making  rounds, 
it  was  in  another  part  of  the  building.  Jimmie  Dale  began 
to  climb. 

He  reached  the  fifth  floor,  turned  down  the  corridor,  and 
halted  in  front  of  a  door,  through  the  ground-glass  panel  of 
which  a  light  glowed  faintly — as  though  coming  from  an  in 
ner  office  beyond.  Jimmie  Dale  drew  the  black  silk  mask 
from  his  pocket,  adjusted  it,  tried  the  door,  found  it  un 
locked,  opened  it  noiselessly,  and  stepped  inside.  Across 
the  room,  through  another  door,  haif  open,  the  light  streamed 
into  the  outer  office,  where  Jimmie  Dale  stood. 

Jimmie  Dale  stole  across  the  room,  crouched  by  the  door 
to  look  into  the  inner  office — and  his  face  went  suddenly 
rigid. 

"Good  God!"  he  whispered.  "As  bad  as  that!''— but 
ft  was  a  nonchalant  Jimmie  Dale  to  all  outward  appearances 
that,  on  the  instant,  stepped  unconcernedly  over  the  thresh 
old. 

An  elderly  man,  white-haired,  kindly-faced,  kindly-eyed, 
save  now  that  the  face  was  drawn  and  haggard,  the  eyes  full 
of  weariness,  was  standing  behind  a  flat-topped  desk,  his 
fingers  twitching  nervously  on  a  revolver  in  his  hand.  He 
whirled,  with  a  startled  cry,  at  Jimmie  Dale's  entrance,  and 
ijie  revolver  clattered  from  his  fingers  to  the  floor, 

*  I  am  afraid,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  smiling  pleasantly;  " 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  81 

you  were  going  to  shoot  yourself.  Your  name  is  Wilbur, 
Henry  Wilbur,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Unmanned,  trembling,  the  other  stood — and  nodded  me 
chanically. 

"  It's  really  not  a  nice  thing  to  do,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  con 
fidentially.  "  Makes  a  mess,  you  see,  too  " — he  was  pulling 
off  his  motor  gauntlet,  his  ulster,  his  jacket,  and,  having  set 
the  cash  box  on  the  desk,  was  rolling  back  his  sieeve  as  he 
spoke.  "  Had  a  little  experience  myself  this  evening."  He 
held  out  his  hand  that,  with  the  forearm,  was  covered  with 
blood.  "  A  little  above  the  wrist — fortunately  only  a  flesh 
wound — a  little  memento  from  a  chap  named  Markel, 
and " 

"  Markel!  "  The  word  burst,  quivering,  from  the  other's 
lips. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  imperturbably.  "  Do  you  mind 
if  I  wash  a  bit — and  could  you  oblige  me  with  a  towel,  or 
something  that  would  do  for  a  bandage  ?  " 

The  man  seemed  dazed.  In  a  subconscious  way,  he 
walked  from  the  desk  to  a  little  cupboard,  and  took  out  two 
towels. 

Jimmie  Dale  stooped,  while  the  Other's  back  was  turned, 
picked  up  the  revolver  from  the  floor,  and  slipped  it  into  his 
trousers  pocket. 

"  Markel  ?  "  said  Wilbur  again,  the  same  trembling  anx 
iety  in  his  voice,  as  he  handed  Jimmie  Dale  the  towels  and 
motioned  toward  a  washstand  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 
"  Did  you  say  Markel — Theodore  Markel  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  examining  his  wound  criti 
cally. 

"  You  had  trouble — a  fight  with  him  ?    Is  he — he — dead  ? '" 

"  No,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  smiling  a  little  grimly.  "  He's 
prettly  badly  hurt,  though,  I  imagine — but  not  in  a  phys 
ical  way." 

"  Strange !  "  whispered  Wilbur,  in  a  numbed  tone  to  him 
self  ;  and  he  went  back  and  sank  down  in  his  desk  chair. 
"  Strange  that  you  should  speak  of  Markel— strange  that 
you  should  have  come  here  to-night !  " 


82      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Jimmie  Dale  did  not  answer.  He  glanced  now  and  then 
at  the  other,  as  he  deftly  dressed  his  wrist — the  man  seemed 
on  the  verge  of  collapse,  on  the  verge  of  a  nervous  break 
down.  Jimmie  Dale  swore  softly  to  himself.  Wilbur  was 
too  old  a  man  to  be  called  upon  to  stand  against  the  trouble 
and  anxiety  that  was  mirrored  in  the  misery  in  his  face,  that 
had  brought  him  to  the  point  of  taking  his  own  life. 

Jimmie  Dale  put  on  his  coat  again,  walked  over  to  the 
desk,  and  picked  up  the  'phone. 

"If  I  may?"  he  inquired  courteously — and  confided  a 
number  to  the  mouthpiece  of  the  instrument. 

There  was  a  moment's  wait,  during  which  Wilbur,  in  a 
desperate  sort  of  way,  seemed  to  be  trying  to  rally  himself, 
to  piece  together  a  puzzle,  as  it  were ;  and  for  the  first  time 
he  appeared  to  take  a  personal  interest  in  the  masked  fig 
ure  that  leaned  against  his  desk.  He  kept  passing  his  hands 
across  his  eyes,  staring  at  Jimmie  Dale. 

Then  Jimmie  Dale  spoke — into  the  'phone. 

"Morning  Nezvs-Argus  office?  Mr.  Carruthers,  please. 
Thank  you." 

Another  wait — then  Jimmie  Dale's  voice  changed  its  pitch 
and  register  to  a  pleasant  and  natural,  though  quite  unrecog 
nisable  bass. 

"  Mr.  Carruthers?  Yes.  I  thought  it  might  interest  you 
to  know  that  Mr.  Theodore  Markel  purchased  a  very  val 
uable  diamond  necklace  this  afternoon.  .  .  .  Oh,  you 
knew  that,  did  you  ?  Well,  so  much  the  better ;  you'll  be  all 
the  more  keenly  interested  to  know  that  it  is  no  longer  in 
his  possession.  ...  I  beg  pardon?  Oh,  yes,  I  quite 
forgot — this  is  the  Gray  Seal  speaking.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  . 
The  Gray  Seal.  ...  I  have  just  come  from  Mr.  Mar 
ket's  country  house,  and  if  you  hurry  a  man  out  there  you 
ought  to  be  able  to  give  the  public  an  exclusive  bit  of  news, 
a  scoop,  I  believe  you  call  it — you  see,  Mr.  Carruthers,  I  am 
not  ungratful  for,  I  might  say,  the  eulogistic  manner  in 
which  the  Morning  Ncivs-Argus  treated  me  in  that  last  af 
fair,  and  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  to  do  you  many  more  favours 
•—I  am  deeply  in  your  debt.  And,  oh,  yes,  tell  your  reporter 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  83 

not  to  overlook  the  detail  of  Mr.  Markel  in  his  pajamas  and 
dressing  gown  tied  to  a  tree  in  his  park — Mr.  Markel  might 
be  inclined  to  be  reticent  on  that  point,  and  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  deprive  the  public  of  any — er — '  atmosphere '  in  the 
story,  you  know.  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  No;  I  am  afraid 
Mr.  Markel's  'phone  is — er — out  of  order.  .  .  .  Yes. 
.  .  .  And,  by  the  way,  speaking  of  'phones,  Mr.  Car- 
ruthers,  between  gentlemen,  I  know  you  will  make  no  effort 
under  the  circumstances  to  discover  the  number  I  am  calling 
from.  Good-night,  Mr.  Carruthers."  Jimmie  Dale  hung 
the  receiver  abruptly  on  the  hook. 

"  You  see,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  turning  to  Wilbur — and 
then  he  stopped.  The  man  was  on  his  feet,  swaying  there, 
his  face  positively  gray. 

"  My  God  !  "  Wilbur  burst  out.  "  What  have  you  done? 
A  thousand  times  better  if  I  had  shot  myself,  as  I  would 
have  done  in  another  moment  if  you  had  not  come  in.  I 
was  only  ruined  then — I  am  disgraced  now.  You  have 
robbed  Markel's  safe — 7  am  the  one  man  in  the  world  who 
would  have  a  reason  above  all  others  for  doing  that — and 
Markel  knows  it.  He  will  accuse  me  of  it.  He  can  prove  I 
had  a  motive.  I  have  not  been  home  to-night.  Nobody 
knows  I  am  here.  I  cannot  prove  an  alibi.  What  have  you 
done!" 

"  Really,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  almost  plaintively,  swinging 
himself  up  on  the  corner  of  the  desk  and  taking  the  cash 
box  on  his  knee,  "  really,  you  are  alarming  yourself  un 
necessarily.  I " 

But  Wilbur  stopped  him.  "  You  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about !  "  Wilbur  cried  out,  in  a  choked  way ;  then, 
his  voice  steadying,  he  rushed  on  :  "  Listen  !  I  am  a  ruined 
man,  absolutely  ruined.  And  Markel  has  ruined  me — I  did 
not  see  through  his  trick  until  too  late.  Listen !  For  years, 
as  a  mining  engineer,  I  made  a  good  salary — and  I  saved  it. 
Two  years  ago  I  had  nearly  seventy  thousand  dollars — it  rep 
resented  my  life  work.  I  bought  an  abandoned  mine  in 
Alaska  for  next  to  nothing — I  was  certain  it  was  rich.  A 
wan  by  the  name  of  Thurl,  Jason  T.  Thurl,  another  mining 


84.      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIS  DALE 

engineer,  a  steamer  acquaintance,  was  out  there  at  the  time 
— he  was  a  partner  of  Markel's,  though  I  didn't  know  it 
then.  I  started  to  work  the  mine.  It  didn't  pan  out.  I 
dropped  nearly  every  cent.  Then  I  struck  a  small  vein  that 
temporarily  recouped  me,  and  supplied  the  necessary  funds 
with  which  to  go  ahead  for  a  while.  Thurl,  who  had  tried 
to  buy  the  mine  out  from  under  my  option  in  the  first  place, 
repeatedly  then  tried  to  buy  it  from  me  at  a  ridiculous  fig 
ure.  I  refused.  He  persisted.  I  refused — I  was  confident, 
I  knew  I  had  one  of  the  richest  properties  in  Alaska." 

Wilbur  paused.  A  little  row  of  glistening  drops  had 
gathered  on  his  forehead.  Jimmie  Dale,  balancing  Markel's 
cash  box  on  one  knee,  drummed  softly  with  his  finger  tips 
on  the  cover. 

"  The  vein  petered  out,"  Wilbur  went  on.  "  But  I  was 
still  confident.  I  sank  all  the  proceeds  of  the  first  strike — 
and  sank  them  fast,  for  unaccountable  accidents  that  crip 
pled  me  both  financially  and  in  the  progress  of  the  work  be 
gan  to  happen."  Wilbur  flung  out  his  hands  impotently. 
"  Oh,  it's  a  long  story — too  long  to  tell.  Thurl  was  at  the 
bottom  of  those  accidents.  He  knew  as  well  as  I  did  that 
the  mire  was  rich — better  than  I  did,  for  that  matter,  for  we 
discovered  before  we  ran  him  out  of  Alaska  that  he  had  made 
secret  borings  on  the  property.  But  what  I  did  not  know 
until  a  few  hours  ago  was  that  he  had  actually  uncovered 
what  we  uncovered  only  yesterday — the  mother  lode.  He 
was  driving  me  as  fast  as  he  could  into  the  last  ditch — for 
Markel.  I  didn't  know  until  yesterday  that  Markel  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  it.  I  struggled  on  out  there,  hoping  every 
day  to  open  a  new  vein.  I  raised  money  on  everything  I 
had,  except  my  insurance  and  the  mine — and  sank  it  in  the 
mine.  No  one  out  there  would  advance  me  anything  on  a 
property  that  looked  like  a  failure,  that  had  once  already 
been  abandoned.  I  have  always  kept  an  office  here,  and  I 
came  back  East  with  the  idea  of  raising  something  on  my 
insurance.  Markel,  quite  by  haphazard  as  I  then  thought, 
was  introduced  to  me  just  before  we  left  San  Francisco  on 
way  to  New  York.  On  the  run  across  the  continent 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  85 

we  became  very  friendly.  Naturally,  I  told  him  my  story. 
He  played  sympathetic  good  fellow,  and  offered  to  lend  me 
fifty  thousand  dollars  on  a  demand  note.  I  did  not  want 
to  be  involved  for  a  cent  more  than  was  necessary,  and,  as 
I  said,  I  hoped  from  day  to  day  to  make  another  strike.  I 
refused  to  take  more  than  ten  thousand.  I  remember  now 
that  he  seemed  strangely  disappointed." 

Again  Wilbur  stopped.  He  swept  the  moisture  from  his 
forehead — and  his  fist,  clenched,  came  down  upon  the  desk. 

"  You  see  the  game !  " — there  was  bitter  anger  in  his  voice 
now.  "  You  see  the  game !  He  wanted  to  get  me  in  deep 
enough  so  that  I  couldn't  wriggle  out,  deeper  than  ten  thou 
sand  that  I  could  get  at  any  time  on  my  insurance,  he  wanted 
me  where  I  couldn't  get  away — and  he  got  me.  The  first  ten 
thousand  wasn't  enough.  I  went  to  him  for  a  second,  a 
third,  a  fourth,  a  fifth — hoping  always  that  each  would  be 
the  last.  Each  time  a  new  note,  a  demand  note  for  the  total 
amount,  was  made,  cancelling  the  former  one.  I  didn't  know 
his  game,  didn't  suspect  it — I  blessed  God  for  giving  me  such 
a  friend — until  this,  or,  rather,  yesterday  afternoon,  when  I 
received  a  telegram  from  my  manager  at  the  mine  saying  that 
he  had  struck  what  looked  like  a  very  rich  vein — the  mother 
lode.  And  " — Wilbur's  fist  curled  until  the  knuckles  were 
like  ivory  in  their  whiteness — "  he  added  in  the  telegram  that 
Thurl  had  wired  the  news  of  the  strike  to  a  man  in  New 
York  by  the  name  of  Market.  Do  you  see?  I  hadn't  had 
the  telegram  five  minutes,  when  a  messenger  brought  me  a 
letter  from  Markel  curtly  informing  me  that  I  would  have 
to  meet  my  note  to-morrow  morning.  I  can't  meet  it.  He 
knew  I  couldn't.  With  wealth  in  sight — I'm  wiped  out.  A 
demand  note,  a  call  loan,  do  you  understand — and  with  a 
few  months  in  which  to  develop  the  new  vein  I  could  pay 
it  readily.  As  it  is — I  default  the  note — Markel  attaches  all 
I  have  left,  which  is  the  mine.  The  mine  is  sold  to  satisfy 
my  indebtedness.  Markel  buys  it  in  legally,  upheld  by  the 
law — and  acquires,  robs  me  of  it,  and " 

"  And  so,'"  said  Jimmie  Dale  musingly,  "  you  were  goin* 
fc*  shoot  yourself  ?  " 


86      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Wilbur  straightened  up,  and  there  was  something  aksn 
to  pathetic  grandeur  in  the  set  of  the  old  shoulders  as  they 
squared  back. 

"  Yes !  "  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  And  shall  I  tell  you 
why?  Even  if,  which  is  not  likely,  there  was  something  re 
verting  to  me  over  the  purchase  price,  it  would  be  a  paltry 
thing  compared  with  the  mine.  I  have  a  wife  and  children. 
If  I  have  worked  for  them  all  my  life,  could  I  stand  back  now 
at  the  last  and  see  them  robbed  of  their  inheritance  by  a 
black-hearted  scoundrel  when  I  could  still  lift  a  hand  to 
prevent  it!  I  had  one  way  left.  What  is  my  life?  I  am  too 
old  a  man  to  cling  to  it  where  they  are  concerned.  I  have 
referred  to  my  insurance  several  times.  I  have  always  car 
ried  heavy  insurance  " — he  smiled  a  little  curious,  mirthless 
smile — "  that  has  no  suicide  clause."  He  swept  his  hand  over 
the  desk,  indicating  the  papers  scattered  there.  "  I  have 
worked  late  to-night  getting  my  affairs  in  order.  My  total 
insurance  is  fifty-two  thousand  dollars,  though  I  couldn't 
borroiv  anywhere  near  the  full  amount  on  it — but  at  my 
death,  paid  in  full,  it  would  satisfy  the  note.  My  executors, 
by  instruction  would  pay  the  note — and  no  dollar  from  the 
mine,  no  single  grain  of  gold,  not  an  ounce  of  quartz,  would 
Markel  ever  get  his  hands  on,  and  my  wife  and  children 
would  be  saved.  That  is " 

His  words  ended  abruptly — with  a  little  gasp.  Jimtnie 
Dale  had  opened  the  cash  box  and  was  dangling  the  necklace 
under  the  light — a  stream  of  fiery,  flashing,  sparkling  gems. 

Then  Wilbur  spoke  again,  a  hard,  bitter  note  in  his  voice, 
pointing  his  hand  at  the  necklace. 

"  But  now,  on  top  of  everything,  you  have  brought  me  dis 
grace — because  you  broke  into  his  safe  to-night  for  that! 
He  would  and  will  accuse  me.  I  have  heard  of  you — the 
Gray  Seal — you  have  done  a  pitiful  night's  work  in  your 
greed  for  that  thing  there." 

"For  this?"  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  ironically,  holding  the 
necklace  up.  Then  he  shook  his  head.  "  I  didn't  break  into 
Market's  safe  for  this — it  wouldn't  have  been  worth  while. 
It's  only  pas*-<" '" 


THE  MOTHER  LODE  87 

"  Paste  !  "  exclaimed  Wilbur,  in  a  slow  way. 

"  Paste,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  placidly,  dropping  the  neck 
lace  back  into  its  case.  "  Quite  in  keeping  with  Markel, 
isn't  it — to  make  a  sensation  on  the  cheap  ?  " 

"  But  that  doesn't  change  matters ! "  Wilbur  cried  out 
sharply,  after  a  numbed  instant's  pause.  "  You  still  broke 
into  the  safe,  even  if  you  didn't  know  then  that  the  necklace 
was  paste." 

"  Ah,  but,  you  see — I  did  know  then,"  said  Jimmie  Dale 
softly.  "  I  am  really — you  must  take  my  word  for  it — a 
very  good  judge  of  stones,  and  I  had — er — seen  these  be 
fore." 

Wilbur  stared — bewildered,  confused. 

"  Then  why — what  was  it  that " 

"  A  paper,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  little  chuckle — and 
produced  it  from  the  cash  box.  "  It  reads  like  this :  '  On 
demand,  I  promise  to  pay '  " 

"My  note !  "  It  came  in  a  great,  surging  cry  from  Wil 
bur  ;  and  he  strained  forward  to  read  it. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Of  course — your  note. 
Did  you  think  that  I  had  just  happened  to  drop  in  on  you? 
Now,  then,  see  here,  you  just  buck  up,  and — er — smile. 
There  isn't  even  a  possibility  of  you  being  accused  of  the 
theft.  In  the  first  place,  Markel  saw  quite  enough  of  me  to 
know  that  it  wasn't  you.  Secondly,  neither  Markel  nor  any 
one  else  would  ever  dream  that  the  break  was  made  for  any 
thing  else  but  the  necklace,  with  which  you  have  no  connec 
tion — the  papers  were  in  the  cash  box  and  were  just  taken 
along  with  it.  Don't  you  see?  And,  besides,  the  police, 
with  my  very  good  friend,  Carruthers  at  their  elbows,  will 
see  very  thoroughly  to  it  that  the  Gray  Seal  gets  full  and 
ample  credit  for  the — crime.  But  " — Jimmie  Dale  pulled  out 
his  watch,  and  yawned  under  his  mask — "  it's  getting  to  be 
an  unconscionable  hour — and  you've  still  a  letter  to  write." 

"  A  letter  ?  "  Wilbur's  voice  was  broken,  his  lips  quiver 
ing. 

"  To  Markel,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly.  "  Write  him 
in  reply  to  his  letter  of  the  afternoon,  and  post  it  before  you 


88      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

leave  here — just  as  though  you  had  written  it  at  once, 
promptly,  on  receipt  of  his.  He  will  still  get  it  on  the  morn 
ing  delivery.  State  that  you  will  take  up  the  note  immedi 
ately  on  presentation  at  whatever  bank  he  chooses  to  name. 
That's  all.  Seeing  that  he  hasn't  got  it,  he  can't  very  well 
present  it — can  he?  Eventually,  having — er — no  use  for 
fake  diamonds,  I  shall  return  the  necklace,  together  with 
the  papers  in  his  cash  box  here — including  your  note." 

"  Eventually  ?  "  Unccmprehendingly,  stumblingly,  Wil 
bur  repeated  the  word. 

"  In  a  month  or  two  or  three,  as  the  case  may  be,"  ex 
plained  Jimmie  Dale  brightly.  "  Whenever  you  insert  a 
personal  in  the  News-Argus  to  the  effect  that  the  mother 
lode  has  given  you  the  cash  to  meet  it."  He  replaced  the  note 
in  the  cash  box,  slipped  down  to  his  feet  from  the  desk — - 
and  then  he  choked  a  little.  Wilbur,  the  tears  streaming 
down  his  face,  unable  to  speak,  was  holding  out  his  hands 
to  Jimmie  Dale.  "  I — er — good-night !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale 
hurriedly — and  stepped  quickly  from  the  room. 

Halfway  down  the  first  flight  of  stairs  he  paused.  Steps, 
running  after  him,  sounded  along  the  corridor  above;  and 
then  Wilbur's  voice. 

"  Don't  go — not  yet,"  cried  the  old  man.  "  I  don't  under 
stand.  How  did  you  know — who  told  you  about  the  note  ?  " 

Jimmie  Dale  did  not  answer — he  went  on  noiselessly  down 
the  stairs.  His  mask  was  off  now,  and  his  lips  curved  into  a 
strange  little  smile. 

44 1  wish  1  knew,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  wistfully  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE 

TT  was  still  early  in  the  evening,  but  a  little  after  nine 
•*•  o'clock.  The  Fifth  Avenue  bus  wended  its  way,  jounc 
ing  its  patrons,  particularly  those  on  the  top  seats,  across 
town,  and  turned  into  Riverside  Drive.  A  short  distance 
behind  the  bus,  a  limousine  rolled  down  the  cross  street 
leisurely,  silently. 

As  the  lights  of  passing  craft  on  the  Hudson  and 
a  myriad  scintillating,  luminous  points  dotting  the  west 
shore  came  into  view,  Jimmie  Dale  rose  impulsively  from 
his  seat  on  the  top  of  the  bus,  descended  the  little  circular 
iron  ladder  at  the  rear,  and  dropped  off  into  the  street.  It 
was  only  a  few  blocks  farther  to  his  residence  on  the  Drive, 
and  the  night  was  well  worth  the  walk ;  besides,  restless,  dis 
turbed,  and  perplexed  in  mind,  the  walk  appealed  to  him. 

He  stepped  across  to  the  sidewalk  and  proceeded  slowly 
along.  A  month  had  gone  by  and  he  had  not  heard  a  word 
from — her.  The  break  on  West  Broadway,  the  murder 
of  Metzer  in  Moriarty's  gambling  hell,  the  theft  of  Markel's 
diamond  necklace  had  followed  each  other  in  quick  suc 
cession — and  then  this  month  of  utter  silence,  with  no  sign 
of  her,  as  though  indeed  she  had  never  existed. 

But  it  was  not  this  temporary  silence  on  her  part  that 
troubled  Jimmie  Dale  now.  In  the  years  that  he  had 
worked  with  this  unknown,  mysterious  accomplice  of  his 
whom  he  had  never  seen,  there  had  been  longer  intervals 
than  a  bare  month  in  which  he  had  heard  nothing  from  her — 
it  was  not  that.  It  was  the  failure,  total,  absolute,  and  com 
plete,  that  was  the  only  result  for  the  month  of  ceaseless, 
unremitting,  doggedly-expended  effort,  even  as  it  had  been 

89 


90      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  result  many  times  before,  in  in  attempt  to  solve  the 
enigma  that  was  so  intimate  and  vital  a  factor  in  his  own 
life. 

If  he  might  lay  any  claims  to  cleverness,  his  resource 
fulness,  at  least,  he  was  forced  *o  admit,  was  no  match  for 
hers.  She  carne,  she  went  without  being  seen — and  behind 
her  remained,  instead  of  clew*  to  her  identity,  only  an  amaz 
ing,  intangible  mystery,  that  left  him  at  times  appalled  and 
dismayed.  How  did  she  know  about  those  conditions  in 
West  Broadway,  how  did  *he  know  about  Metzer's  murder, 
how  did  she  know  about  Markel  and  Wilbur — how  did  she 
know  about  a  hundred  other  affairs  of  the  same  sort  that  had 
happened  since  that  night,  years  ago  now,  when  out  of  pure 
adventure  he  had  tampered  with  Marx's,  the  jeweller's 
strong  room  in  Maiden  Lane,  and  she  had,  mysteriously  then, 
too,  solved  his  identity,  discovered  him  to  be  the  Gray  Seal  ? 
Jimmie  Dale,  wrapped  up  in  his  own  thoughts,  entirely 
oblivious  to  his  surroundings,  traversed  another  block. 
There  had  never  been  since  the  world  began,  and  there  would 
never  be  again,  *o  singular  and  bizarre  a  partnership  as  this — 
— of  hers  and  his.  He,  Jimmie  Dale,  with  his  strange  double 
life,  one  of  New  York's  young  bachelor  millionaires,  one 
whose  socia)  status  was  unquestioned ;  and  she,  who — who 
what?  That  was  just  it!  Who  what?  WThat  was  she? 
WThat  was  her  name?  What  one  personal,  intimate  thing 
did  he  know  about  her?  And  what  was  to  be  the  end? 
Not  that  he  would  have  severed  his  association  with  her — 
not  for  worlds ! — though  every  time,  that,  by  some  new  and 
curious  method,  one  of  her  letters  found  its  way  into  his 
hands,  outlining  some  fresh  coup  for  him  to  execute,  his 
peril  and  danger  of  discovery  was  increased  in  staggering 
ratio.  To-day,  the  police  hunted  the  Gray  Seal  as  they 
hunted  a  mad  dog ;  the  papers  stormed  and  raved  against 
him ;  in  every  detective  bureau  of  two  continents  he  was 
catalogued  as  the  most  notorious  criminal  of  the  age — and 
yet.  strange  paradox,  no  single  crime  had  ever  been  com- 
rakted! 

Jimmie    Dale's    strong,    fine- featured    face    lighted    up 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  91 

Crime!  Thanks  to  her,  there  were  those  who  blessed  the 
name  of  the  Gray  Seal,  those  into  whose  lives  had  come  joy, 
relief  from  misery,  escapj  from  death  even — and  their  bless 
ings  were  worth  a  thousandfold  the  risk  and  peril  of  dis 
aster  that  threatened  him  at  every  minute  of  the  day. 

"  Thank  God  for  her ! "  murmured  Jimmie  Dale  softly. 
"  But — but  if  I  could  only  find  her,  see  her,  know  who  she 
is,  talk  to  her,  and  hear  her  voice !  "  Then  he  smiled  a  little 
wanly.  "  It's  been  a  pretty  tough  month — and  nothing  to 
show  for  it !  " 

It  had !  It  had  been  one  of  the  hardest  months  through 
"»vhich  Jimmie  Dale  had  ever  lived.  The  St.  James,  that  most 
exclusive  club,  his  favourite  haunt,  had  seen  nothing  of  him ; 
the  easel  in  his  den,  that  was  his  hobby,  had  been  untouched ; 
there  had  been  days  even  when  he  had  not  crossed  the  thresh 
old  of  his  home.  Every  resource  at  his  command  he  had 
called  into  play  in  an  effort  to  solve  the  mystery.  For  nearly 
:he  entire  month,  following  first  this  lead  and  then  that,  he 
nad  lived  in  the  one  disguise  that  he  felt  confident  she  knew 
nothing  of — that  was,  or,  rather,  had  become,  almost  a  dual 
personality  with  him.  From  the  Sanctuary,  that  miserable 
and  disreputable  room  in  a  tenement  on  the  East  Side,  a 
tenement  that  had  three  separate  means  of  entrance  and  exit, 
he  had  emerged  day  after  day  as  Larry  the  Bat,  a  character 
as  well  known  and  as  well  liked  in  the  exclusive  circles  of  the 
underworld  as  was  Jimmie  Dale  in  the  most  exclusive  strata 
of  New  York's  society  and  fashion.  And  it  had  been  use 
less — all  useless.  Through  his  own  endeavours,  through  the 
help  of  his  friends  of  the  underworld,  the  lives  of  half  a 
dozen  men,  Bert  Hagan's  on  West  Broadway,  for  instance, 
Markel's,  and  others',  had  been  laid  bare  to  the  last  shred, 
but  nowhere  could  be  found  the  one  vital  point  that  linked 
their  lives  with  hers,  that  would  account  for  her  intimate 
knowledge  of  them,  and  so  furnish  him  with  the  clew  that 
would  then  with  certainty  lead  him  to  a  solution  of  her  iden= 
tity. 

It  was  baffling,  puzzling,  unbelievable,  bordering,  indeed, 
ac.  the  miraculous — herself,  everything  about  her,  ner  act*. 


92      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

her  methods,  her  cleverness,  intangible  in  one  sense,  were 
terrifically  real  in  another.  Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head. 
The  miraculous  and  this  practical,  everyday  life  were  wide 
and  far  apart.  There  was  nothing  miraculous  about  it — it 
was  only  that  the  key  to  it  was,  so  far,  beyond  his  reach. 

And  then  suddenly  Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his  shoulders  in 
consonance  with  a  whimsical  change  in  both  mood  anc* 
thought. 

"  Larry  the  Bat,  is  a  hard  taskmaster !  "  he  muttered  face 
tiously.  "  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  very  presentable  this  evening 
— no  bath  this  morning,  and  no  shave,  and,  after  nearly  a 
month  of  make-up,  that  beastly  grease  paint  gets  into  the 
skin  creases  in  a  most  intimate  way."  He  chuckled  as  the 
thought  of  old  Jason,  his  butler,  came  to  him.  "  I  saw  Jason, 
torn  between  two  conflicting  emotions,  shaking  his  head  over 
the  black  circles  under  my  eyes  last  night — he  didn't  know 
whether  to  worry  over  the  first  signs  of  a  galloping  de 
cline,  or  break  his  heart  at  witnessing  the  young  master  he 
had  dandled  on  his  knees  going  to  the  damnation  bowwows 
and  turning  into  a  confirmed  roue!  I  guess  I'll  have  to 
mind  myself,  though.  Even  Carruthers  detached  his  mind 
far  enough  from  his  editorial  desk  and  the  hope  of  ex 
clusively  publishing  the  news  of  the  Gray  Seal's  capture  in 
the  Morning  News-Argus,  to  tell  me  I  was  looking  seedy. 
It's  wonderful  the  way  a  little  paint  will  metamorphose  a 
man !  Well,  anyway,  here's  for  a  good  hot  ub  to-night,  and 
a  fresh  start !  " 

He  quickened  his  pace.  There  were  still  three  blocks  to 
go,  and  here  was  no  hurrying,  jostling  crowd  to  impede  his 
progress ;  indeed,  as  far  as  he  could  see  up  the  Drive,  there 
was  not  a  pedestrian  in  sight.  And  then,  as  he  walked,  in 
voluntarily,  insistently,  his  mind  harked  back  into  the  old 
groove  again. 

"  I've  tried  to  picture  her,"  said  Jimmie  Pale  softly  to 
himself.  "  I've  tried  to  picture  her  a  hundred,  yes,  a  thou 
sand  times,  and— 

A  bus,  rumbling  cityward,  went  by  him,  squeaking,  creak 
ing,  and  rattling  in  its  uneasy  joints — and  out  of  the  noise 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  £& 

Almost  at  his  elbow  it  seemed,  a  voice  spoke  his  name — and 
in  that  instant  intuitively  he  knew,  and  it  thrilled  him, 
stopped  the  beat  of  his  heart,  as,  dulcet,  soft,  clear  as  the 
note  of  a  silver  bell  it  fell — and  only  one  word : 

"  Jimmie ! " 

He  whirled  around.  A  limousine,  wheels  just  grazing 
the  curb,  was  gliding  slowly  and  silently  past  him,  and  from 
the  window  a  woman's  arm,  white-gloved  and  dainty,  was 
extended,  and  from  the  fingers  to  the  pavement  fluttered  an 
envelope — and  the  car  leaped  forward. 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second,  Jimmie  Dale  stood  dazed, 
immovable,  a  gamut  of  emotions,  surprise,  fierce  exulta 
tion,  amazement,  a  strange  joy,  a  mighty  uplift,  swirling 
upon  him — and  then,  snatching  up  the  envelope  from  the 
ground,  he  sprang  out  into  the  road  after  the  car.  It  was 
the  one  chance  he  had  ever  had,  the  one  chance  she  had  ever 
given  him,  and  he  had  seen — a  white-gloved  arm !  He  could 
not  reach  the  car,  it  was  speeding  away  from  him  like  an 
arrow  now,  but  there  was  something  else  that  would  do  just 
as  well,  something  that  with  all  her  cleverness  she  had  over 
looked — the  car's  number  dangling  on  the  rear  axle,  the  rays 
of  the  little  lamp  playing  on  the  enamelled  surface  of  the 
plate  !  Gasping,  panting,  he  held  his  own  for  a  yard  or  more, 
and  there  floated  back  to  him  a  little  silvery  laugh  from  the 
body  of  the  limousine,  and  then  Jimmie  Dale  laughed,  too, 
and  stopped — it  was  No.  15,836. 

He  stood  and  watched  the  car  disappear  up  the  Drive. 
What  delicious  irony !  A  month  of  gruelling,  ceaseless  toil 
that  had  been  vain,  futile,  useless — and  the  key,  when  he 
was  not  looking  for  it,  unexpectedly,  through  no  effort  of  his, 
was  thrust  into  his  hand — No.  15,836! 

Jimmie  Dale,  the  gently  ironic  smile  still  on  his  lips,  those 
slim,  supersensitive  fingers  of  his  subconsciously  noting  that 
the  texture  of  the  envelope  was  the  same  as  she  always  used, 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  sidewalk. 

"  Number  fifteen  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty-six,* 
said  Jimmie  Dale  aloud — and  halted  at  the  curb  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot.  It  sounded  strangely  familiar,  that  num~ 


94      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

ber !  He  repeated  it  over  again  slowly  :  "  One-five-eight- 
three-six."  And  the  smile  left  his  lips,  and  upon  his  fact 
came  the  look  of  a  chastened  child.  She  had  used  a  duplicate 
plate!  Fifteen  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty-six  was 
the  number  of  one  of  his  own  cars — his  own  particular 
runabout ! 

For  a  moment  longer  he  stood  there,  undecided  whether 
to  laugh  or  swear,  and  then  his  eyes  fastened  mechanically 
on  the  envelope  he  was  twirling  in  his  fingers.  Here,  at 
least,  was  something  that  was  not  elusive ;  that,  on  the  con 
trary,  as  a  hundred  others  in  the  past  had  done,  outlined 
probably  a  grim  night's  work  ahead  for  the  Gray  Seal !  And, 
if  it  were  as  those  others  had  been,  every  minute  from  the 
moment  of  its  receipt  was  precious  time.  He  stepped  un 
der  the  nearest  street  light,  and  tore  the  envelope  open. 

"  Dear  Philanthropic  Crook,"  it  began — and  then  followed 
two  closely  written  pages.  Jimmie  Dale  read  them,  his  lips 
growing  gradually  tighter,  a  smouldering  light  creeping  into 
his  dark  eyes,  and  once  he  emitted  a  short,  low  whistle  of 
consternation — that  was  at  the  end,  as  he  read  the  post 
script  that  was  heavily  underscored :  "  Work  quickly.  They 
will  raid  to-night.  Be  careful.  Look  out  for  Kline,  he  is 
the  sharpest  man  in  the  United  States  secret  service." 

For  a  brief  instant  longer,  Jimmie  Dale  stood  under  th* 
street  lamp,  his  mind  in  a  lightning-quick  way  cataloguing 
every  point  in  her  letter,  viewing  every  point  from  a  myriad 
angles,  constructing,  devising,  mapping  out  a  plan  to  dove 
tail  into  them — and  then  Jimmie  Dale  swung  on  a  downtown 
bus.  There  was  neither  time  nor  occasion  to  go  home  now 
• — that  marvellous  little  kit  of  burglar's  tools  that  peeped  from 
their  tiny  pockets  in  that  curious  leather  undervest,  and  that 
reposed  now  in  the  safe  in  his  den,  would  be  useless  to  him 
to-night ;  besides,  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  neatly 
folded,  was  a  black  silk  mask,  and,  relics  of  his  role  of 
Larry  the  Bat,  an  automatic  revolver,  an  electric  flashlight, 
a  steel  jimmy,  and  a  bunch  of  skeleton  keys,  were  dis 
tributed  among  the  other  pockets  of  his  smart  tweed 
suit, 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  96 

Jimmie  Dale  changed  from  the  bus  to  the  subway,  leav«. 
«ig  behind  him,  strewn  over  many  blocks,  the  tiny  and 
minute  fragments  into  which  he  had  torn  her  letter;  at 
Astor  Place  he  left  the  subway,  walked  to  Broadway,  turned 
uptown  for  a  block  to  Eighth  Street,  then  along  Eighth 
Street  almost  to  Sixth  Avenue — and  stopped. 

A  rather  shabby  shop,  a  pitiful  sort  of  a  place,  display 
ing  in  its  window  a  heterogeneous  conglomeration  of  cheap 
odds  and  ends,  ink  bottles,  candy,  pencils,  cigarettes,  pens, 
toys,  writing  pads,  marbles,  and  a  multitude  of  other  small 
wares,  confronted  him.  Within,  a  little,  old,  sweet-faced, 
gray-haired  woman  stood  behind  the  counter,  pottering  over 
the  rearrangement  of  some  articles  on  the  shelves. 

"  My  word !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  softly  to  himself.  "  You 
wouldn't  believe  it,  would  you !  And  I've  always  wondered 
how  these  little  stores  managed  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
Think  of  that  old  soul  making  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand 
dollars  from  a  layout  like  this — even  it  it  has  taken  he?  A 
lifetime!" 

Jimmie  Dale  had  halted  nonchalantly  and  unconcernedly 
by  the  curb,  not  too  near  the  window,  busied  apparently  in 
an  effort  to  light  a  refractory  cigarette ;  and  then,  about  to 
enter  the  store,  he  gazed  aimlessly  across  the  street  for  a 
moment  instead.  A  man  came  briskly  around  the  corner 
from  Sixth  Avenue,  opened  the  store  door,  and  went  in. 

Jimmie  Dale  drew  back  a  little,  and  turned  his  head  again 
as  the  door  closed — and  a  sudden,  quick,  alert,  and  startled 
look  spread  over  his  face. 

The  man  who  had  entered  bent  over  the  counter  and  spoke 
to  the  old  lady.  She  seemed  to  listen  with  a  dawning  terror 
creeping  over  her  features,  and  then  her  hands  went  piteously 
to  the  thin  hair  behind  her  ears.  The  man  motioned  toward  a 
door  at  the  rear  of  the  store.  She  hesitated,  then  came  out 
from  behind  the  counter,  and  swayed  a  little  as  though  her 
limbs  would  not  support  her  weight. 

Jimmie  Dale's  lips  thinned. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  he  muttered  slowly,  "  I'm  afraid  that  I'm 
too  late  even  now."  And  then,  as  she  came  to  the  door  and 


96      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

turned  the  key  on  the  inside :  "  Pray  Heaven  she  doesn't 
turn  the  light  out — or  somebody  might  think  I  was  trying 
to  break  in  !  " 

But  in  that  respect  Jimmie  Dale's  fears  were  groundless. 
She  did  not  turn  out  either  of  the  gas  jets  that  lighted  the 
little  shop ;  instead,  in  a  faltering,  reluctant  sort  of  manner, 
she  led  the  way  directly  through  the  door  in  the  rear,  and  the 
man  followed  her. 

The  shop  was  empty — and  Jimmie  Dale  was  standing 
against  the  door  on  the  outside.  His  position  was  perfectly 
natural — a  hundred  passers-by  would  have  noted  nothing  but 
a  most  commonplace  occurrence — a  man  in  the  act  of  enter 
ing  a  store.  And,  if  he  appeared  to  fumble  and  have  trouble 
with  the  latch,  what  of  it !  Jimmie  Dale,  however,  was  not 
fumbling — hidden  by  his  back  that  was  turned  to  the  street, 
those  wonderful  fingers  of  his,  in  whose  tips  seemed  em 
bodied  and  concentrated  every  one  of  the  human  senses,  were 
working  quickly,  surely,  accurately,  without  so  much  as  the 
wasted  movement  of  a  single  muscle. 

A  faint  tinkle — and  the  key  within  fell  from  the  lock  to 
the  floor.  A  faint  click — and  the  bolt  of  the  lock  slipped 
back.  Jimmie  Dale  restored  the  skeleton  keys  and  a  little 
steel  instrument  that  accompanied  them  to  his  pocket — and 
quietly  opened  the  door.  He  stepped  inside,  picked  up  the 
key  from  the  floor,  inserted  it  in  the  lock,  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  and  locked  it  again. 

"  To  guard  against  interruption,"  observed  Jimmie  Dale, 
a  little  quizzically. 

He  was,  perhaps,  thirty  seconds  behind  the  others.  He 
crossed  the  shop  noiselessly,  cautiously,  and  passed  through 
the  door  at  the  rear.  It  opened  into  a  short  passage  that, 
after  a  few  feet,  gave  on  a  sort  of  corridor  at  right  angles — 
and  down  this  latter,  facing  him,  at  the  end,  the  door  of  a 
lighted  room  was  open,  and  he  could  see  the  figure  of  the 
man  who  had  entered  the  shop,  back  turned,  standing  on  the 
threshold.  Voices,  indistinct,  came  to  him. 

The  corridor  itself  was  dark ;  and  Jimmie  Dale,  satisfied 
ihat  he  was  fairly  safe  from  observation,  stole  softly  for 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  97 

ward.  He  passed  two  doors  on  his  left — and  the  curiou* 
arrangement  of  the  building  that  had  puzzled  him  tor  a 
moment  became  clear.  The  store  made  the  front  of  an  old 
tenement  building,  with  apartments  above,  and  the  rear  of 
the  store  was  a  sort  of  apartment,  too — the  old  lady's  living 
quarters. 

Step  by  step,  testing  each  one  against  a  possible  creaking 
of  the  floor,  Jimmie  Dale  moved  forward,  keeping  close  up 
against  one  wall.  The  man  passed  on  into  the  room — and 
now  Jimmie  Dale  could  distinguish  every  word  that  was  being 
spoken ;  and,  crouched  up,  in  the  dark  corridor,  in  the  angle 
of  the  wall  and  the  door  jamb  itself,  could  see  plainly  enough 
into  the  room  beyond.  Jimmie  Dale's  jaw  crept  out  a  little. 

A  young  man,  gaunt,  pale,  wrapped  in  blankets,  half  sat, 
half  reclined  in  an  invalid's  chair ;  the  old  lady,  on  her  kneesr 
the  tears  streaming  down  her  face,  had  her  arms  around  the 
sick  man's  neck ;  while  the  other  man,  apparently  upset  at 
the  scene,  tugged  vigorously  at  long,  gray  mustaches. 

"  Sammy  !  Sammy !  "  sobbed  the  woman  piteously.  "  Say 
you  didn't  do  it,  Sammy — say  you  didn't  do  it !  " 

"  Look  here,  Mrs.  Matthews,"  said  the  man  with  the  gray 
mustaches  gently,  "  now  don't  you  go  to  making  things 
any  harder.  I've  got  to  do  my  duty  just  the  same,  and  take 
your  son." 

The  young  man,  a  hectic  flush  beginning  to  burn  on  hia 
cheeks,  gazed  wildly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  What— what  is  it?  "  he  cried  out. 

The  man  threw  back  his  coat  and  displayed  a  badge  on  hia 
vest. 

"  I'm  Kline  of  the  secret  service,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I'm 
sorry,  Sammy,  but  I  want  you  for  that  little  job  in  Washing 
ton  at  the  bureau — before  you  left  on  sick  leave !  " 

Sammy  Matthews  struggled  away  from  his  mother's  arms, 
pulled  himself  forward  in  his  jhair — and  his  tongue  licked 
dry  lips. 

"  What — what  job  ?  "  he  whispered  thickly. 

"  You  know,  don't  you  ? "  the  other  answered  steadily, 
He  took  a  large,  flat  pocketbook  from  his  pocket,  opened 


98      THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

it,  and  took  out  a  five-dollar  bill.  He  held  this  before  the 
sick  man's  eyes,  but  just  out  of  reach,  one  finger  silently  in 
dicating  the  lower  left-hand  corner. 

Matthews  stared  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  the  hectic  flush 
faded  to  a  grayish  pallor,  and  a  queer,  impotent  sound  gur 
gled  in  his  throat. 

"  I  see  you  recognise  it,"  said  the  other  quietly.  "  It's 
open  and  shut,  Sammy.  That  little  imperfection  in  the 
plate's  got  you,  my  boy." 

"  Sammy  !  Sammy  !  "  sobbed  the  woman  again.  "  Sam 
my,  say  you  didn't  do  it !  " 

"  It's  a  lie !  "  said  Matthews  hoarsely.  "  It's  a  lie !  That 
plate  was  condemned  in  the  bureau  for  that  imperfection^ 
condemned  and  destroyed." 

"  Condemned  to  be  destroyed,"  corrected  the  other,  with 
out  raising  his  voice.  "  There's  a  little  difference  there, 
Sammy — about  twenty  years'  difference — in  the  Federal  pen. 
But  it  wasn't  destroyed  ;  this  note  was  printed  from  it  by  one 
of  the  slickest  gangs  of  counterfeiters  in  the  United  States— 
but  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that,  I  guess  you  know  who  they 
are.  I've  been  after  them  a  long  time,  and  I've  got  them 
now,  just  as  tight  as  I've  got  you.  Instead  of  destroying  that 
plate,  you  stole  it,  and  disposed  of  it  to  the  gang.  How  much 
did  they  give  you  ?  " 

Matthews'  face  seemed  to  hold  a  dumb  horror,  and  his 
fingers  picked  at  the  arms  of  the  chair.  His  mother  had 
moved  from  beside  him  now,  and  both  her  hands  were  pat 
ting  at  the  man's  sleeve  in  a  pitiful  way,  while  again  and 
again  she  tried  to  speak,  but  no  words  would  come. 

"  It's  a  lie !  "  said  Matthews  again,  in  a  colourless,  mechani 
cal  way. 

The  man  glanced  at  Mrs.  Matthews  as  he  put  the  five- 
dollar  note  back  into  his  pocket,  seemed  to  choke  a  little, 
shook  his  head,  and  all  trace  of  the  official  sternness  that  had 
crept  into  his  voice  disappeared. 

"  It's  no  good,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  Don't  do  that, 
Mrs.  Matthews,  I've  got  to  do  my  duty."  He  leaned  a  little 
toward  the  chair.  "  It's  dead  to  rights,  Sammy.  You  might 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  99 

AS  well  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  It  was  up  to  you  and  Al 
Gregor  to  see  that  the  plate  was  destroyed.  It  wasn't  des- 
troyed ;  instead,  it  shows  up  in  the  hands  of  a  gang  of  coun 
terfeiters  that  I've  been  watching  for  months.  Furthermore, 
I've  got  the  plate  itself.  And  finally,  though  I  haven't 
placed  him  under  arrest  yet  for  fear  you  might  hear  of  it 
before  I  wanted  you  to  and  make  a  get-away,  I've  got  Al 
Gregor  where  I  can  put  my  hands  on  him,  and  I've  got  his 
confession  that  you  and  he  worked  the  game  between  you 
to  get  that  plate  out  of  the  bureau  and  dispose  of  it  to  the 
gang." 

"  Oh,  my  God ! " — it  came  in  a  wild  cry  from  the  sick 
man,  and  in  a  desperate,  lurching  way  he  struggled  up  to 
tiis  feet.  "  Al  Gregor  said  that  ?  Then — then  I'm  done !  " 
He  clutched  at  his  temples.  "  But  it's  not  true — it's  not  true! 
If  the  plate  was  stolen,  and  it  must  have  been  stolen,  or  that 
note  wouldn't  have  been  found,  it  was  Al  Gregor  who  stole 
it — I  didn't,  I  tell  you !  I  knew  nothing  of  it,  except  that  h^ 
and  I  were  responsible  for  it  and — and  I  left  it  to  hi-*i — 
that's  the  only  way  I'm  to  blame.  He's  caught,  and  he's 
trying  to  get  out  of  it  with  a  light  sentence  by  pretending 
to  turn  State's  evidence,  but — but  I'll  fight  him — he  can't 
prove  it — it's  only  his  word  against  mine,  and " 

The  other  shook  his  head  again. 

"  It's  no  good,  Sammy,"  he  said,  a  touch  of  sternness  back 
in  his  tones  again.  "  I  told  you  it  was  open  and  shut.  It's 
not  only  Al  Gregor.  One  of  the  gang  got  weak  knees  when 
I  got  him  where  I  wanted  him  the  other  night,  and  he  swears 
that  you  are  the  one  who  delivered  the  plate  to  them.  Be- 
'iween  him  and  Gregor  and  what  I  know  myself,  I've  got 
*vidence  enough  for  any  jury  against  every  one  of  the  rest 
if  you." 

Horror,  fear,  helplessness  seemed  to  mingle  in  the  sick 
nan's  staring  eyes,  and  he  swayed  unsteadily  upon  his  feet. 

"  I'm  innocent !  "  he  screamed  out.  "  But  I'm  caught,  I'm 
flight  in  a  net,  and  I  can't  get  out — they  lied  to  you — but 
ao  one  will  believe  it  any  more  than  you  do  and — and  it 
means  twenty  years  for  me — oh,  God! — twenty  years, 


100    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

and "  His  hands  went  wriggling  to  his  temples  again< 

and  he  toppled  back  in  a  faint  into  the  chair. 

"  You've  killed  him !  You've  killed  my  boy !  "  the  old 
lady  shrieked  out  piteously,  and  flung  herself  toward  the 
senseless  figure. 

The  man  jumped  for  the  table  across  the  room,  on  which 
was  a  row  of  bottles,  snatched  one  up,  drew  the  cork, 
smelled  it,  and  ran  back  with  the  bottle.  He  poured  a  little 
of  the  contents  into  his  cupped  hand,  held  it  under  young 
Matthews'  nostrils,  and  pushed  the  bottle  into  Mrs.  Mat 
thews'  hands. 

"  Bathe  his  forehead  with  this,  Mrs.  Matthews,"  he 
directed  reassuringly.  "  He'll  be  all  right  again  in  a  moment. 
There,  see — he's  coming  around  now." 

There  was  a  long,  fluttering  sigh,  and  Matthews  opened 
his  eyes ;  then  a  moment's  silence ;  and  then  he  spoke,  with 
an  effort,  with  long  pauses  between  the  words : 

"  Am — I — to — go — now  ?  " 

The  words  seemed  to  ring  absolute  terror  in  the  old  lady's 
ears.  She  turned,  and  dropped  to  her  knees  on  the  floor. 

"  Mr.  Kline,  Mr.  Kline,"  she  sobbed  out,  "  oh,  for  God's 
io»e,  don't  take  him!  Let  him  off,  let  him  go!  He's  my 
boy — all  I've  got!  You've  got  a  mother,  haven't  you ?  You 

know "  The  tears  were  streaming  down  the  sweet,  old 

face  again.  "  Oh,  won't  you,  for  God's  dear  name,  won't 
you  let  him  go?  Won't " 

"  Stop !  "  the  man  cried  huskily.  He  was  mopping  at  his 
face  with  his  handkerchief.  "  I  thought  I  was  case- 
hardened,  I  ought  to  be — but  I  guess  I'm  not.  But  I've  got 
to  do  my  duty.  You're  only  making  it  worse  for  Sammy 
there,  as  well  as  me." 

Her  arms  were  around  his  knees  now,  clinging  there. 

"  Why  can't  you  let  him  off !  "  she  pleaded  hysterically. 
"  Why  can't  you  !  Why  can't  you !  Nobody  would  know, 
and  I'd  do  anything — I'd  pay  anything — anything — I'll  give 
you  ten — fifteen  thousand  dollars!" 

"  My  poor  woman,"  he  said  kindly,  placing  his  hand  on  her 
head,  "you  are  talking  wildly.  Apart  altogether  from  the 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  101 

question  of  duty,  even  if  I  succeeded  in  hushing  the  matter 
up,  I  would  probably  at  least  be  suspected  and  certainly  dis 
charged,  and  I  have  a  family  to  support — and  if  I  were 
caught  I'd  get  ten  years  in  the  Federal  prison  for  it.  I'm 
sorry  for  this ;  I  believe  it's  your  boy's  first  offence,  and  if 
I  could  let  him  off  I  would." 

"  But  you  can — you  can !  "  she  burst  out,  rocking  on  hei 
knees,  clinging  tighter  still  to  him,  as  though  in  a  paroxysm 
of  fear  that  he  might  somehow  elude  her.  "  It  will  kill 
him — it  will  kill  my  boy.  And  you  can  save  him !  And 
even  if  they  discharged  you,  what  would  that  mean  against 
my  boy's  life !  You  wouldn't  suffer,  your  family  wouldn't 
suffer,  I'll — I'll  take  care  of  that — perhaps  I  could  raise  a 
little  more  than  fifteen  thousand — but,  oh,  have  pity,  have 
mercy — don't  take  him  away  !  " 

The  man  stared  at  her  a  moment,  stared  at  the  white  face 
on  the  reclining  chair — and  passed  his  hand  heavily  across 
his  eyes. 

"  You  will !  You  will !  "  It  came  in  a  great  surging  cry 
of  joy  from  the  old  lady.  "  You  will — oh,  thank  God,  thank 
God ! — I  can  see  it  in  your  face !  " 

"  I — I  guess  I'm  soft,"  he  said  huskily,  and  stooped  and 
raised  Mrs.  Matthews  to  her  feet.  "  Don't  cry  any  more. 
It'll  be  all  right— it'll  be  all  right.  I'll— I'll  fix  it  up  some 
how.  I  haven't  made  any  arrests  yet,  and — well,  I'll  take 
my  chances.  I'll  get  the  plate  and  turn  it  over  to  you  to 
morrow,  only — only  it's  got  to  be  destroyed  in  my 
presence." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  she  cried,  trying  to  smile  through  her  tears— 
and  then  she  flung  her  arms  around  her  son's  neck  again. 
"  And  when  you  come  to-morrow,  I'll  be  ready  with  the 
money  to  do  my  share,  too,  and " 

But  Sammy  Matthews  shook  his  head. 

"  You're  wrong,  both  of  you,"  he  said  weakly.  "  You're 
a  white  man,  Kline.  But  destroying  that  plate  won't  save  me. 
The  minute  a  single  note  printed  from  it  shows  up,  they'll 
know  back  there  in  Washington  that  the  plate  was  stolen, 
*nd " 


102    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"No;  you're  safe  enough  there,"  the  other  interposed 
heavily.  "  Knowing  what  was  up,  you  don't  think  I'd  give 
the  gang  a  chance  to  get  them  into  circulation,  do  you?  I 
got  them  all  when  I  got  the  plate.  And  " — he  smiled  a  little 
anxiously — "  I'll  bring  them  here  to  be  destroyed  with  the 
plate.  It  would  finish  me  now,  as  well  as  you,  if  one  of  them 
ever  showed  up.  Say,"  he  said  suddenly,  with  a  catch  in  his 
breath,  "  I — I  don't  think  I  know  what  I'm  doing." 

Mrs.  Matthews  reached  out  her  hands  to  him. 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you ! "  she  said  brokenly. 
«  What " 

Jimmie  Dale  drew  back  along  the  wall.  A  little  way 
from  the  door  he  quickened  his  pace,  still  moving,  however, 
with  extreme  caution.  They  were  still  talking  behind  him 
as  he  turned  from  the  corridor  into  the  passageway  leading 
to  the  store,  and  from  there  into  the  store  itself.  And 
then  suddenly,  in  spite  of  caution,  his  foot  slipped  on  the  bare 
floor.  It  was  not  much — just  enough  to  cause  his  other 
foot,  poised  tentatively  in  air,  to  come  heavily  down, 
and  a  loud  and  complaining  creak  echoed  from  the 
floor. 

Jimmie  Dale's  jaws  snapped  like  a  steel  trap.  From  down 
the  corridor  came  a  sudden,  excited  exclamation  in  the  little 
old  lady's  voice,  and  then  her  steps  sounded  running  toward 
the  store.  In  the  fraction  of  a  second  Jimmie  Dale  was  at 
the  front  door. 

"  Clumsy,  blundering  fool !  "  he  whispered  fiercely  to  him 
self  as  he  turned  the  key,  opened  the  door  noiselessly  until 
it  was  just  ajar,  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  again,  leav 
ing  the  bolt  protruding  out.  One  step  backward,  and  he  was 
rapping  on  the  counter  with  his  knuckles.  "  Isn't  anybody 
here?"  he  called  out  loudly.  "Isn't  any — oh!" — as  Mrs. 
Matthews  appeared  in  the  back  doorway.  "  A  package  of 
cigarettes,  please." 

She  stared  at  him,  a  little  frightened,  her  eyes  red  and 
swollen  with  recent  crying. 

"How — how  did  you  get  in  here?"  she  asked  tremth 
lously. 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  103 

**  I  beg  your  pardon  ? "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale,  in  polite 
surprise. 

"  I — I  locked  the  door — I'm  sure  I  did,"  she  said,  more 
to  herself  than  to  Jimmie  Dale,  and  hurried  across  the  floor 
to  the  door  as  she  spoke. 

Jimmie  Dale,  still  politely  curious,  turned  to  watch  her. 

For  a  moment  bewilderment  and  a  puzzled  look  were  in 
her  face — and  then  a  sort  of  surprised  relief. 

"  I  must  have  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  without  shutting 
the  door  tight,"  she  explained,  "  for  I  knew  I  turned  tht> 
key." 

Jimmie  Dale  bent  forward  to  examine  the  lock — and  nod 
ded. 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  with  a  smile.  "  I  should  say  so.* 
Then,  gravely  courteous :  "  I'm  sorry  to  have  intruded." 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  answered ;  and,  evidently  anxious  tq 
be  rid  of  him,  moved  quickly  around  behind  the  counter. 
"What  kind  of  cigarettes  do  you  want?" 

"  Egyptians — any  kind,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  laying  a  bill 
on  the  counter. 

He  pocketed  the  cigarettes  and  his  change,  and  turnev 
to  the  door. 

"  Good -evening,"  he  said  pleasantly — and  went  out. 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled  a  little  curiously,  a  little  tolerantly. 
As  he  started  along  the  street,  he  heard  the  door  of  the  littU 
shop  close  with  a  sort  of  supercareful  bang,  the  key  turned, 
and  the  latch  rattle  to  try  the  door — the  little  old  lady  was 
bent  on  making  no  mistake  a  second  time ! 

And  then  the  smile  left  Jimmie  Dale's  lips,  his  face  grew 
strained  and  serious,  and  he  broke  into  a  run  down  the  block 
to  Sixth  Avenue.  Here  he  paused  for  an  instant — there  was 
the  elevated,  the  surface  cars — which  would  be  the  quicker? 
He  looked  up  the  avenue.  There  was  no  train  coming ;  the 
nearest  surface  car  was  blocks  away.  He  bit  his  lips  in 
vexation — and  then  with  a  jump  he  was  across  the  street 
and  hailing  -a  passing  taxicab  that  his  eyes  had  just  lighted 
on. 

"  Got  a  fare?  "  called  Jimmie  Dale. 


104    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  No,  sir/'  answered  the  chauffeur,  bumping  his  car  to  an 
abrupt  halt. 

"  Good ! "  Jimmie  Dale  ran  alongside,  and  yanked  the 
door  open.  "  Do  you  know  where  the  Palace  Saloon  on  the 
Bowery  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  man. 

Jimmie  Dale  held  a  ten-dollar  bank  note  up  before  the 
•ihauffeur's  eyes. 

"  Earn  that  m  four  minutes,  then,"  he  snapped — and 
sprang  into  the  cab. 

The  taxicab  swerved  around  on  little  better  than  two 
wheels,  started  on  a  mad  dash  down  the  Avenue — and  Jim 
mie  Dale  braced  himself  grimly  in  his  seat.  The  cab  swerved 
again,  tore  across  Waverly  Place,  circuited  Washington 
Square,  crossed  Broadway,  and  whirled  finally  into  the  tip 
per  end  of  the  Bowery. 

Jimmie  Dale  spoke  once — to  himself — plaintively. 

"  It's  too  bad  I  can't  let  old  Carruthers  in  on  this  for  a 
Scoop  with  his  precious  Morning  News-Argus — but  if  I  get 
out  of  it  alive  myself,  I'll  do  well !  Wonder  if  the  day'll  ever 
come  when  he  finds  out  that  his  very  dear  friend  and  old 
college  pal,  Jimmie  Dale,  is  the  Gray  Seal  that  he's  turned 
himself  inside  out  for  about  four  years  now  to  catch,  and 
that  he'd  trade  his  soul  with  the  devil  any  time  to  lay  hands 
on !  Good  old  Carruthers !  '  The  most  puzzling,  bewilder 
ing,  delightful  crook  in  the  annals  of  crime  ' — am  I  ?  " 

The  cab  drew  up  at  the  curb.  Jimmie  Dale  sprang  out, 
shoved  the  bill  into  the  chauffeur's  hand,  stepped  quickly 
across  the  sidewalk,  and  pushed  his  way  through  the  swing 
ing  doors  of  the  Palace  Saloon.  Inside  leisurely  and 
nonchalantly,  he  walked  down  past  the  length  of  the  bar  to  a 
door  at  the  rear.  This  opened  into  a  passageway  that  led  to 
the  side  entrance  of  the  saloon  on  the  cross  street.  Jimmie 
Dale  emerged  from  the  side  entrance,  crossed  the  street,  re 
traced  his  steps  to  the  Bowery,  crossed  over,  and  walked 
rapidly  down  that  thoroughfare  for  two  blocks.  Here  he 
turned  east  into  the  cross  street;  and  here,  once  more,  hi' 
became  leisurely  and  unhurried. 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  105 

"  It's  a  strange  coincidence,  though  possibly  a  very  happy 
cne,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  as  he  walked  along,  "  that  it  should 
be  on  the  same  street  as  the  Sanctuary — ah,  this  ought  to 
be  the  place !  " 

An  alleyway,  corresponding  to  the  one  that  flanked  the 
tenement  where,  as  Larry  the  Bat,  he  had  paid  room  rent 
as  a  tenant  for  several  years,  in  fact,  the  alleyway  next  above 
k,  and  but  a  short  block  away,  intersected  the  street,  narrow, 
Wack,  and  uninviting.  Jimmie  Dale,  as  he  passed,  peered 
down  its  length. 

"  No  light — that's  good !  "  commented  Jimmie  Dale  to  him 
self.  Then :  "  Window  opens  on  alleyway  ten  feet  from 
ground — shoe  store,  Russian  Jew,  in  basement — go  in  front 
door — straight  hallway — room  at  end — Russian  Jew  prob 
ably  accomplice — be  careful  that  he  does  not  hear  you  mov 
ing  overhead  " — Jimmie  Dale's  mind,  with  that  curious  fac 
ulty  of  his,  was  subconsciously  repeating  snatches  from  her 
letter  word  for  word,  even  as  he  noted  the  dimly  lighted, 
tintidy,  and  disorderly  interior  of  what,  from  strings  of 
leather  slippers  that  decorated  the  cellarlike  entrance,  was 
evidently  a  cheap  and  shoddy  shoe  store  in  the  basement  of 
the  building. 

The  building  itself  was  rickety  and  tumble-down,  three 
stories  high,  and  given  over  undoubtedly  to  gregarious  for* 
eigners  of  the  poorer  class,  a  rabbit  burrow,  as  it  were, 
having  a  multitude  of  roomers  and  lodgers.  There  was. 
nothing  ominous  or  even  secretive  about  it — up  the  short 
flight  of  steps  to  the  entrance,  even  the  door  hung  care 
lessly  half  open. 

Jimmie  Dale's  slouch  hat  was  pulled  a  little  farther  down 
over  his  'eyes  as  he  mounted  the  steps  and  entered  the  hall 
way.  PTe  listened  a  moment.  A  sort  of  subdued,  querulous 
hubbub  seemed  to  hum  through  the  place,  as  voices,  men's, 
women's,  and  children's,  echoing  out  from  their  various 
;:ooms  above,  mingled  together,  and  floated  down  the  stair 
ways  in  •».  discordant  medley.  Jimmie  Dale  stepped  lightly 
down  tht  length  of  the  hall — and  listened  again ;  this  time 
intently,  with  his  ear  to  the  keyhole  of  the  door  that  made 


106    THri  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  end  of  the  passage.  There  was  not  a  sound  from  withm, 
He  tried  the  door,  smiled  a  little  as  he  reached  for  hit 
keys,  worked  over  the  lock — and  straightened  up  suddenly 
as  his  ear  caught  a  descending  step  on  the  stairs.  It  was 
two  flights  up,  however — and  the  door  was  unlocked  now. 
Jimmie  Dale  opened  it,  and,  like  a  shadow,  slipped  inside; 
and,  as  he  locked  the  door  behind  him,  smiled  once  more — 
the  door  lock  was  but  a  paltry  makeshift  at  best,  but  inside 
his  fingers  had  touched  a  massive  steel  bolt  that,  when  shot 
home,  would  yield  when  the  door  itself  yielded — and  not  be 
fore.  Without  moving  the  bolt,  he  turned — and  his  flash' 
light  for  a  moment  swept  the  room. 

"  Not  much  like  the  way  they  describe  this  sort  of  place 
in  storybooks  !  "  murmured  Jimmie  Dale  capriciously.  "  But 
I  get  the  idea.  Mr.  Russian  Jew  downstairs  makes  a  bluff 
at  using  it  for  a  storeroom." 

Again  the  flashlight  made  a  circuit.  Here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  seemingly  without  any  attempt  at  order,  were 
piles  of  wooden  shipping  cases.  Only  the  centre  of  the  room 
was  clear  and  empty ;  that,  and  a  vacant  space  against  the 
Svall  by  the  window. 

Jimmie  Dale,  moving  without  sound,  went  to  the  window. 
There  was  a  shade  on  it,  and  it  was  pulled  down.  He 
reached  up  underneath  it,  felt  for  the  window  fastening,  and 
unlocked  it ;  then  cautiously  tested  the  window  itself  by  lift 
ing  it  an  inch  or  two — it  slid  easily  in  its  grooves. 

He  stood  then  for  a  moment,  hardfaced,  a  frown  gather 
ing  his  forehead  into  heavy  furrows,  as  the  flashlight's  ray 
again  and  again  darted  hither  and  thither.  There  was  noth 
ing,  absolutely  nothing  in  the  room  but  wooden  packing 
cases.  He  lifted  the  cover  of  the  one  nearest  to  him  and 
looked  inside.  It  was  quite  empty,  except  for  some  pieces 
of  heavy  cord,  and  a  few  cardboard  shoe  boxes  that,  in  turn- 
were  empty,  too. 

"  It's  here,  of  course,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  thoughtfully  to 
himself.  "  Clever  work,  too !  But  I  can't  move  half  a 
hundred  packing  cases  without  that  chap  below  hearing  me; 
*&d  I  can't  do  it  in  ten  minutes,  either,  which,  I  imaging  id 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  107 

i$ie  outside  limit  of  time.  Fortunately,  though,  these  cases 
are  not  without  their  compensation — a  dozen  men  could  hide 
here." 

He  began  to  move  about  the  room.  And  now  he  stooped 
Defore  one  pile  of  boxes  and  then  another,  curiously  attempt 
ing  to  lift  up  the  entire  pile  from  the  bottom.  Some  he  could 
not  move ;  others,  by  exerting  all  his  strength,  gave  a  little ; 
and  then,  finally,  over  in  one  corner,  he  found  a  pile  that 
appeared  to  answer  his  purpose. 

"  These  are  certainly  empty,"  he  muttered. 

There  was  just  room  to  squeeze  through  between  them  and 
the  next  stack  of  cases  alongside ;  but,  once  through,  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  moving  the  cases  out  a  little  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  the  angle  made  by  the  corner  of  the  room,  he 
obtained  ample  space  to  stand  comfortably  upright  against 
the  wall.  But  Jimmie  Dale  was  not  satisfied  yet.  Could  he 
see  out  into  the  room?  He  experimented  with  his  flash 
light — and  carefully  shifted  the  screen  of  cases  before  him 
a  little  to  one  side.  And  yet  still  he  was  not  satisfied.  With 
a  sort  of  ironical  droop  at  the  corners  of  his  lips,  as  thougi 
suddenly  there  had  flashed  upon  him  the  inspiration  thav 
fathered  one  of  those  whimsical  ideas  and  fancies  that  were 
so  essentially  a  characteristic  of  Jimmie  Dale,  he  came  out 
*rom  behind  the  cases,  went  across  the  room  to  the  case  he 
had  opened  when  he  first  entered,  took  out  the  cord  and  the 
cover  of  one  of  the  cardboard  shoe  boxes,  and  with  these 
returned  to  his  hiding  place  once  more. 

The  sounds  from  the  upper  stones  of  the  tenement  now 
reached  him  hardly  at  all ;  but  from  below,  directly  under  his 
feet  almost,  he  could  hear  some  one,  the  proprietor  of  the 
shoe  store  probably,  walking  about. 

Tense,  every  faculty  now  on  the  alert,  his  head  turned  in 
a  strained,  attentive  attitude,  Jimmie  Dale  threw  on  the  flash' 
Kght's  tiny  switch,  took  that  intimate  and  thin  metal  case 
from  his  pocket,  extracted  a  diamond-shaped,  gray  papei 
seal  with  the  little  tweezers,  moistened  the  adhesive  side, 
and  stuck  it  in  the  centre  of  the  white  cardboard-box  cover 
tfios  tore  the  edges  of  the  cardboard  down  until  the  who*!* 


108    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

was  just  small  enough  to  slip  into  his  pocket.  Through  the 
cardboard  he  looped  a  piece  of  cord,  placard  fashion,  and 
with  his  pencil  printed  the  four  words — "  with  the  com 
pliments  of  " — above  the  gray  seal.  He  surveyed  the  re 
sult  with  a  grim,  mirthless  chuckle — and  put  the  piece  of 
cardboard  in  his  pocket. 

"  I'm  taking  the  longest  chances  I  ever  took  in  my  life,'* 
said  Jimmie  Dale  very  seriously  to  himself,  as  his  fingers 
twisted,  and  doubled,  and  tied  the  remaining  pieces  of  cord 
together,  and  finally  fashioned  a  running  noose  in  one  end. 

"  I  don't "  The  cord  and  the  fla^ulight  went  into  his 

pocket,  the  room  was  in  darkness,  the  black  mask  was 
whipped  from  his  breast  pocket  and  adjusted  to  his  face,  and 
his  automatic  was  in  his  hand. 

Came  the  creak  of  a  footstep,  as  though  on  a  ladder  ex 
actly  below  him,  another,  and  another,  receding  curiously 
in  its  direction,  yet  at  the  same  time  growing  louder  in 
sound  as  if  nearer  the  floor — then  a  crack  of  light  showed 
in  the  floor  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  This  held  for  an 
instant,  then  expanded  suddenly  into  a  great  luminous 
square — and  through  a  trapdoor,  opened  wide  nor.,,  a  man's 
bead  appeared. 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes,  fixed  tnrough  L^  apace  between  the 
piles  of  cases,  narrowed — there  was,  indeed,  little  doubt  but 
that  the  shoe-store  proprietor  below  was  an  accomplice! 
The  store  served  a  most  convenient  purpose  in  every  re 
spect — as  a  secret  means  of  entry  into  the  room,  as  a  sort 
of  guarantee  of  innocence  for  the  room  itself.  Why  not! 
To  the  superficial  observer,  to  the  man  who  might  by  some 
chance  blunder  into  the  room — it  was  but  an  adjunct  of  the 
store  itself ! 

The  man  in  the  trap-doorway  paused  with  his  shoulders 
above  the  floor,  looked  around,  listened,  then  drew  himself 
up,  walked  across  the  floor,  and  shot  the  heavy  bolt  on  the 
door  that  led  into  the  hallway  of  the  house.  He  returned 
then  to  the  trapdoor,  bent  over  it,  and  whistled  softly.  Two 
more  men,  in  answer  to  the  summons,  came  up  into  the 
twin 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FITE  109 

"  The  Cap'll  be  along  in  a  minute,"  one  of  them  said 

*  Turn  on  the  light." 

A  switch  clicked,  flooding  the  room  with  sudden  brilli 
ancy  from  half  a  dozen  electric  bulbs. 

'*  Too  many !  "  grunted  the  same  voice  again.  "  We  ain't 
working  to-night — turn  out  half  of  'em." 

The  sudden  transition  from  the  darkness  for  a  moment 
dazzled  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes — but  the  next  moment  he  was 
searching  the  faces  of  the  three  men.  There  were  few 
crooks,  few  denizens  of  the  crime  world  below  the  now  ob 
solete  but  still  famous  dead  line  that,  as  Larry  the  Bat,  he 
did  not  know  at  least  by  sight. 

"  Moulton,  Whitie  Burns,  and  Marty  Dean,"  confided 
yimmie  Dale  softly  to  himself.  "  And  I  don't  know  of  any 
worse,  except — the  Cap.  And  gun  fighters,  every  one  oi 
them,  too — nice  odds,  to  say  nothing  of " 

"  Here's  the  Cap  now ! "  announced  one  of  the  three. 

*  Hello,  Cap,  where'd  you  raise  the  mustache  ?  " 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  shifted  to  the  trapdoor,  and  into  thent 
irept  a  contemptuous  and  sardonic  smile — the  man  w^o  w»* 
i.oming  up  now  and  hoisting  himself  to  the  flior  was  the 
Ijan  who,  half  an  hour  before,  had  threatened  young  Sammy 
Matthews  with  arrest. 

The  Cap,  alias  Bert  Malone,  alias  a  score  of  other  names, 
closed  the  trapdoor  after  him,  pulled  off  his  mustache  and 
gray  wig,  tucked  them  in  his  pocket,  and  faced  his  com 
panions  brusquely. 

"  Never  mind  about  the  mustache,"  he  said  curtly.  "  Get 
busy,  the  lot  of  you.  Stir  around  and  get  the  works  out ! " 

"  What  for  ? "  inquired  Whitie  Burns,  a  sharp,  ferret- 
faced  little  man.  "  We  got  enough  of  the  old  stuff  on  hand 
now,  and  that  bum  break  Gregor  made  when  he  pinched  the 
cracked  plate  put  the  finish  on  that.  Say,  Cap " 

"  Close  your  face,  Whitie,  and  get  the  works  out !  "  Ma- 
lone  cut  in  shortly.  "  We've  only  got  the  whole  night  ahead 
of  us — but  we'll  need  it  all.  We're  going  to  run  the  queer 
off  that  cracked  plate." 

One  of  the  others,  Marty  Dean  this  time,  a  crrtain  brutaJ 


110    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

aggressiveness  in  both  features  and  physique,  edged  for 
ward. 

"Say,  what's  the  lay?"  he  demanded.  "A  joke?  We 
printed  one  fiver  off  that  plate — and  then  we  knew  enough 
to  quit.  With  that  crack  along  the  corner,  you  couldn't  pass 
fem  on  a  blind  man !  And  Gregor  saying  he  thought  we 
cculd  patch  the  plate  up  enough  to  get  by  with  gives  me  a 
pain — he's  got  jingles  in  his  dome  factory  1  Run  them  fivers 
eh — say,  are  you  cracked,  too  ?  " 

"  Aw,  forget  it !  "  observed  Malone  caustically.  "  Who's 
running  this  gang?"  Then,  with  a  malicious  grin:  "J 
got  a  customer  for  those  fivers — fifteen  thousand  dollars  for 
all  we  can  turn  out  to-night.  See  ?  " 

The  others  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  incredulity  and 
greed  mingling  in  a  curious  half-hesitant,  half -expectant 
look  on  thfir  faces. 

Then  Whitie  Burns  spoke,  circling  his  lips  with  the  tip 
of  his  tongue : 

"  D'ye  mean  it,  Cap — honest  ?  What's  the  lay  ?  How'd 
you  work  it  ?  " 

Malone,  unbending  with  the  sensation  he  had  created, 
grinned  again. 

"  Easy  enough,"  he  said  offhandedly.  "  It  was  like  fall 
ing  off  a  log.  Gregor  said,  didn't  he,  that  the  only  way  he 
had  been  able  to  get  his  claws  on  that  plate  was  on  account 
of  young  Matthews  going  away  sick — eh?  Well,  the  old 
Matthews  woman,  his  mother,  has  got  money — about  fifteen 
thousand.  I  guess  she  ain't  got  any  more  than  that,  or  I'd 
have  raised  the  ante.  Aw,  it  was  easy.  She  threw  it  at  me. 
I  framed  one  up  on  them,  that's  all.  I'm  Kline,  of  the  secret 
service — see  ?  I  don't  suppose  they'd  ever  seen  him,  though 
they'd  know  his  name  fast  enough,  but  I  made  up  something 
like  him.  I  showed  them  where  I  had  a  case  against  Sammy 
for  pinching  the  plate  that  was  strong  enough  to  put  a  hun 
dred  innocent  men  behind  the  bars.  Of  course,  he  knew  well 
enough  he  was  innocent,  but  he  could  see  the  twenty  years 
I  showed  him  with  both  eyes.  Say,  he  mussed  all  over  the 
place,  and  went  and  fainted  like  a  girl  And  then  the  okf 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVfc  111 

woman  came  across  with  an  offer  of  fifteen  thousand  for  the 
plate,  and  corrupted  me."  Malone's  cunning,  vicious  face, 
now  that  the  softening  effects  of  the  gray  hair  and  mus 
tache  were  gone,  seemed  accentuated  diabolically  by  the  grin 
broadening  into  a  laugh,  as  he  guffawed. 

Marty  Dean's  hand  swung  with  a  bang  to  Malone's  shoul 
der. 

"  Say,  Cap— say,  you're  all  right !  "  he  exclaimed  excitedly. 
"  You're  the  boy  !  But  what's  the  good  of  running  anything 
off  the  plate  before  turning  it  over  to  'em — the  stuff's  no 
good  to  us." 

"  You  got  a  wooden  nut,  with  sawdust  for  brains," 
said  Malone  sarcastically.  "  If  he'd  thought  the  gang  of 
counterfeiters  that  was  supposed  to  have  bought  the  plate 
from  him  had  run  off  only  one  fiver  and  then  stopped  be 
cause  they  say  it  wouldn't  get  by,  and  weren't  going  to  run 
any  more,  and  just  destroy  the  plate  like  it  was  supposed  to 
have  been  destroyed  to  begin  with,  and  it  all  end  up  with  no 
one  the  wiser,  where  d'ye  think  we'd  have  banked  that  fif 
teen  thousand !  I  told  him  I  had  the  whole  run  confiscated, 
and  that  the  queer  went  with  the  plate,  so  we'll  just  make 
that  little  run  to-night — that's  why  I  sent  word  around  to  you 
this  morning." 

"  By  the  jumping!  "  ejaculated  Whitie  Burns,  heavy  with 
admiration.  "  You  got  a  head  on  you,  Cap !  " 

"  It's  a  good  thing  for  some  of  you  that  I  have,"  returned 
Malone  complacently.  "  But  don't  stand  jawing  all  night. 
Go  on,  now — get  busy !  " 

There  was  no  surprise  in  Jimmie  Dale's  face — he  had 
chosen  his  position  behind  a  pile  of  cases  that  he  had  been  ex 
tremely  careful,  as  a  man  is  careful  when  his  life  hangs  in 
the  balance,  to  assure  himself  were  empty.  None  of  the 
four  came  near  or  touched  the  pile  behind  which  he  stood ; 
but,  here  and  there  about  the  room,  they  pulled  this  one  and 
that  one  out  from  various  stacks.  In  scarcely  more  than  a 
moment,  the  room  was  completely  transformed.  It  was  no 
longer  a  storeroom  for  surplus  stock,  for  the  storage  of 
bulky  and  empty  packing  cases!  From  the  cases  the  metr 


112    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

had  picked  out,  like  a  touch  of  magic,  appeared  a  veritablf 
printing  plant,  an  elaborate  engraver's  outfit — a  highly  effi 
cient  foot-power  press,  rapidly  being  assembled  by  Whitie 
Burns ;  an  electric  dryer,  inks,  a  pile  of  white,  silk-threaded 
bank-note  paper,  a  cutter,  and  a  score  of  other  appurte 
nances. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  very  gently  to  himself.  "  Yes, 
quite  so — but  the  plate  ?  Ah !  "  Malone  was  taking  it  out 
from  the  middle  of  a  bundle  of  old  newspapers,  loosely  tied 
together,  that  he  had  lifted  from  one  of  the  cases. 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  fastened  on  it — and  from  that  instant 
never  left  it.  A  minute  passed,  two,  three  of  them — the 
four  men  were  silently  busy  about  the  room — Malone  was 
carefully  cleaning  the  plate. 

"  They  will  raid  to-night.  Look  out  for  Kline,  he  is  the 
sharpest  man  in  the  United  State  secret  service  " — the  warn 
ing  in  her  letter  was  running  through  Jimmie  Dale's  mind. 
Kline — the  real  Kline — was  going  to  raid  the  place  to-night. 
When?  At  what  time?  It  must  be  nearly  eleven  o'clock 
already,  and 

It  came  sudden,  quick  as  the  crack  of  doom — a  terrific 
crash  against  the  bolted  door — but  the  door,  undoubtedly  to 
the  surprise  of  those  without,  held  fast,  thanks  to  the  bolt 
The  four  men,  white-faced,  seemed  for  an  instant  turned  to 
statues.  Came  another  crash  against  the  door — and  a  sharp, 
imperative  order  to  those  within  to  open  it  and  surrender. 

"  We're  pinched !  Beat  it !  "  whispered  Whitie  Burns 
wildly — and  dashed  for  the  trapdoor. 

Like  a  rat  for  its  hole,  Marty  Dean  followed.  Malone, 
farther  away,  dropped  the  plate  on  the  floor,  and  rushed, 
with  Moulton  beside  him,  after  the  others — but  he  never 
reached  the  trapdoor. 

Over  the  crashing  blows,  raining  now  in  quick  succession 
on  the  door  of  the  room,  over  a  startled  commotion  as 
lodgers,  roomers,  and  tenants  on  the  floor  above  awoke  into 
frightened  activity  with  shouts  and  cries,  came  the  louder 
crash  of  a  pile  of  packing  boxes  hurled  to  the  floor.  And 
«ver  them,  vaulting  those  scattered  in  his  way,  Jimmie  Da** 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  113 

sprang  at  Malone.  The  man  reeled  back,  with  a  cry.  Moul- 
ton  dashed  through  the  trapdoor  and  disappeared.  The 
short,  ugly  barrel  of  Jimmie  Dale's  automatic  was  between 
Malone's  eyes. 

"  You  make  a  move,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  a  low  sibilant 
way,  "  and  I'll  drop  you  where  you  stand !  Put  your  hands 
behind  your  back — palms  together !  " 

Malone,  dazed,  cowed,  obeyed.  A  panel  of  the  door  split 
and  rent  down  its  length — the  hinges  were  sagging.  Jim 
mie  Dale  worked  like  lightning.  The  cord  with  the  slip 
noose  from  his  pocket  went  around  Malone's  wrists,  jerked 
tight,  and  knotted ;  the  placard,  his  lips  grim,  with  no  sign 
of  humour,  Jimmie  Dale  dangled  around  the  man's  neck. 

"  An  introduction  for  you  to  Mr.  Kline  out  there — that 
you  seem  so  fond  of ! "  gritted  Jimmie  Dale.  Then,  work 
ing  as  he  talked :  "  I've  got  no  time  to  tell  you  what  I  think 
of  you,  you  pitiful  hound  " — he  snatched  up  the  plate  from 
the  floor  and  put  it  in  his  pocket — "  Twenty  years,  I  think 
you  said,  didn't  you?  " — his  hand  shot  into  Malone's  pocket- 
book,  and  extracted  the  five-dollar  note — "  If  you  can  open, 
this  v/ith  your  toes  maybe  you  can  get  away  " — he  wrenched 
the  trapdoor  over  and  slammed  it  shut — "  good-night, 
Malone  " — and  he  leaped  for  the  window. 

The  door  tottered  inward  from  the  top,  ripping,  tearing, 
smashing  hinges,  panels,  and  jamb.  Jimmie  Dale  got  a 
blurred  vision  of  brass  buttons,  blue  coats,  and  helmets,  and, 
in  the  forefront,  of  a  stocky,  gray-mustached,  gray-haired 
man  in  plain  clothes. 

Jimmie  Dale  threw  up  the  window,  swung  out,  as  with  a 
rush  the  officers  burst  through  into  the  room  and  a  re 
volver  bullet  hummed  viciously  past  his  ear,  and  dropped  to 
the  ground — into  encircling  arms  ! 

"  Ah,  no,  you  dcn't,  my  bucko !  "  snapped  a  hoarse  voice 
in  his  ear.  *'  Keep  quiet  now,  or  I'll  crack  your  bean — under* 
stand ! ): 

But  the  officer,  too  heavy  to  be  muscular,  was  no  match 
for  Jimmie  Dale,  who,  even  as  he  had  dropped  from  the  sill, 
had  caught  sight  of  the  lurking  form  below;  and  now. 


114    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

with  a  quick,  sudden,  lithe  movement  he  wriggled  loose,  his 
fist  from  a  short-arm  jab  smashed  upon  the  point  of  the 
other's  jaw,  sending  the  man  staggering  backward — and  Jim- 
mie  Dale  ran. 

A  crowd  was  already  collecting  at  the  mouth  of  the  alley 
way,  mostly  occupants  of  the  house  itself,  and  into  these, 
scattering  them  in  all  directions,  eluding  dexterously  another 
officer  who  made  a  grab  for  him,  Jimmie  Dale  charged  at  top 
speed,  burst  through,  and  headed  down  the  street,  running 
like  a  deer. 

Yells  went  up,  a  revolver  spat  venomously  behind  him, 
came  the  shrill  cheep-cheep!  of  the  police  whistle,  and  heavy 
boots  pounding  the  pavement  in  pursuit. 

Down  the  block  Jimmie  Dale  raced.  The  yells  augmented 
in  his  rear.  Another  shot — and  this  time  he  heard  the  bullet 
buzz.  And  then  he  swerved — into  the  next  alleyway — that 
flanked  the  Sanctuary. 

He  had  perhaps  a  ten  yards'  lead,  just  a  little  more  than 
the  distance  from  the  street  to  the  side  door  of  the  Sanctuary 
that  opened  on  the  alleyway.  And,  as  he  ran  now,  his 
fingers  tore  at  his  clothing,  loosening  his  tie,  unbuttoning 
coat,  vest,  collar,  shirt,  and  undershirt.  He  leaped  at  the 
door,  swung  it  open,  flung  himself  inside — and  then  sacrific 
ing  speed  to  silence,  went  up  the  stairs  like  a  cat,  cramming 
his  mask  now  into  his  pocket. 

His  room  was  on  the  first  landing.  In  an  instant  he  had 
unlocked  the  door,  entered,  and  locked  it  again  oehind  him. 
From  outside,  an  excited  street  urchin's  voice  shrilled  up  to 
him: 

"  He  went  in  that  door !    I  seen  him  !  " 

The  police  whistle  chirped  again;  and  then  an  authori 
tative  voice : 

"  Get  around  and  watch  the  saloon  back  of  this,  Heenej 
• — there's  a  way  out  through  there  from  this  joint." 

Jimmie  Dale,  divested  of  every  stitch  of  clothing  that  h< 
had  worn,  pulled  a  disreputable  collarless  flannel  shirt  ovei 
his  head,  pulled  on  a  dirty  and  patched  pair  of  trousers,  and 
slipped  into  a  threadbare  and  filthy  coat.  Jimmie  Dak 


CHE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  115 

WAS  working  against  seconds.  They  were  at  the  lower  doo* 
now.  He  lifted  the  oilcloth  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  lifted 
up  the  loose  piece  of  the  flooring,  shoved  his  discarded  gar 
ments  inside,  and  from  a  little  box  that  was  there  smeared 
the  hollow  of  his  hand  with  some  black  substance,  possessed 
himself  of  two  little  articles,  replaced  the  flooring,  replaced 
the  oilcloth,  and,  in  bare  feet,  stole  across  the  room  to  the 
door.  Against  the  door,  without  a  sound,  Jimmie  Dale 
placed  a  chair,  and  on  the  chair  seat  he  laid  the  two  little 
articles  he  had  been  carrying  in  his  hand.  It  was  intensely 
black  in  the  room,  but  Jimmie  Dale  needed  no  light  here. 
From  under  the  bed  he  pulled  out  a  pair  of  woolen  socks 
and  a  pair  of  congress  boots,  both  as  disreputable  as  the 
rest  of  his  attire,  put  them  on — and  very  quietly,  softly,, 
cautiously,  stretched  himself  out  on  the  bed. 
.  The  officers  were  at  the  top  of  the  stairs*  A  voice  barked 
out: 

"  Stand  guard  on  this  landing,  Peters.  Higgins,  you  take 
the  one  above.  We'll  start  from  the  top  of  the  house  and 
urork  down.  Allow  no  one  to  pass  you." 

**  Yes,  sir?    Very  good,  Mr.  Kline,"  was  the  response. 

Kline ! — the  sharpest  man  in  the  United  States  secret  ser- 
yice,  she  had  said.  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  set. 

"  I'm  glad  I  had  no  shave  this  morning,"  said  Jimmk 
Dale  grimly  to  himself. 

His  fingers  were  working  with  the  black  substance  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand — and  the  long,  slim,  tapering  fingers,  the 
shapely,  well-cared- for  hands  grew  unkempt  and  grimy,  black 
beneath  the  finger  nails — and  a  little,  too,  played  its  part  on 
the  day's  growth  of  beard,  a  little  around  the  throat  and  at 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  a  little  across  the  forehead  to  meet  the 
locks  of  straggling  and  disordered  hair.  Jimmie  Dale  wiped 
the  residue  from  the  hollow  of  his  hand  on  the  knee  of  his 
trousers — and  lay  still. 

An  officer  paced  outside.  Upstairs  doors  opened  and 
closed.  Gruff,  harsh  tones  in  commands  echoed  through  the 
house.  The  search  party  descended  to  the  second  floor—; 
feifd  again  the  same  sounds  were  repeated.  And  then,  thump* 


T:lf    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Big  down  the  creaking  stairs,  they  stopped  before  Jhnmie 
Dale's  room.  Some  one  tried  the  door,  and,  finding  k 
locked,  rattled  it  violently. 

**  Open  the  door !  "    It  was  Kline's  voice. 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  was  breathing 
regularly,  though  just  a  little  slower  than  in  natural  respira 
tion. 

"  Break  it  down !  "  ordered  Kline  tersely. 

There  was  a  rush  at  it — and  it  gave.  It  surged  inward, 
knocked  against  the  chair,  upset  the  latter,  something  tinkled 
to  the  floor — and  four  officers,  with  Kline  at  their  head, 
jumped  into  the  room. 

Jimmie  Dale  never  moved.  A  flashlight  played  around 
the  room  and  focused  upon  him — and  then  he  was  shaken 
roughly— only  to  fall  inertly  back  on  the  bed  again. 

"  I  guess  this  is  all  right,  Mr.  Kline,'*  said  one  of  the 
officers.  "  It's  Larry  the  Bat,  and  he's  doped  to  the  eyes. 
There's  the  stuff  on  the  floor  we  knocked  off  the  chair." 

"  Light  the  gas !  "  directed  Kline  curtly ;  and,  being  obeyed, 
stooped  to  the  floor  and  picked  up  a  hypodermic  syringe  and 
a  small  bottle.  He  held  the  bottle  to  the  light,  and  read  the 
label :  Liquor  Morphine.  "  Shake  him  again  1 "  he  com 
manded. 

None  too  gently,  a  policeman  caught  Jimmie  Dale  by  the 
shoulder  and  shook  him  vigorously — again  Jimmie  Dale, 
once  the  other  let  go  his  hold,  fell  back  limply  on  the  bedt 
breathing  in  that  same,  slightly  slowed  way. 

"  Larry  the  Bat,  eh  ?  "  grunted  Kline ;  then,  to  the  office* 
who  had  volunteered  the  information :  "  Who's  Larry  the 
Bat  ?  What  is  he  ?  And  how  long  have  you  known  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  he  is  any  more  than  what  you  can  see 
there  for  yourself,"  replied  the  officer.  "  He's  a  dope  fiend, 
and  I  guess  a  pretty  tough  case,  though  we've  never  had  him 
up  for  anything.  He's  lived  here  ever  since  I've  been  on  the 
beat,  and  that's  three  years  or " 

"  All  right !  "  interrupted  Kline  crisply.  "  He's  no  good 
to  us!  You  say  there's  an  exit  from  this  house  into  that 
saloon  at  the  back  ?  " 


THE  COUNTERFEIT  FIVE  117 

*  Yes,  sir ;  but  the  fellow,  whoever  he  is,  couldn't  grt 
iway  from  there.  Heeney's  been  over  on  guard  from  tht 
start" 

u  Then  he's  still  inside  there,"  said  Kline,  clipping  off  his 
words.  "  We'll  search  the  saloon.  Nice  night's  work  this  is  I 
One  out  of  the  whole  gang — and  that  one  with  the  compli 
ments  of  the  Gray  Seal !  " 

The  men  went  out  and  began  to  descend  the  stairs. 

"  One,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  to  himself,  still  motionless,  still 
breathing  in  that  slow  way  so  characteristic  of  the  drug. 
*  Two.  Three.  Four." 

The  minutes  went  by — a  quarter  of  an  hour — a  half  hour. 
Still  Jimmie  Dale  lay  there — still  motionless — still  breathing 
with  slow  regularity.  His  muscles  began  to  cramp,  to  give 
him  exquisite  torture.  Around  him  all  was  silence — only 
distant  sounds  from  the  street  reached  him,  muffled,  and  at 
intervals.  Another  quarter  of  an  hour  passed — an  eternity 
of  torment.  It  seemed  to  Jimmie  Dale,  for  all  his  will 
power,  that  he  could  not  hold  himself  in  check,  that  he  must 
move,  scream  out  even  in  the  torture  that  was  passing  all 
endurance.  It  was  silent  now,  utterly  silent — and  then  out 
of  the  silence,  just  outside  his  door,  a  footstep  creaked — 
ind  a  man  walked  to  the  stairs  and  went  down. 

"  Five,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  to  himself.  "  The  sharpest  man 
In  the  United  States  secret  service." 

And  then  for  the  first  time  Jimmie  Dale  moved — to  wipe 
away  the  beads  of  sweat  that  had  sprung  out  upon  his  fore 
head. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  AFFAIR   OF  THE   PUSHCART   MAK 

TARRY  THE  BAT  shambled  out  of  the  side  door  of  the 
tenement  into  the  back  alleyway ;  shambled  along  the 
black  alleyway  to  the  street — and  smiled  a  little  grimly  as  a 
shadow  across  the  roadway  suddenly  shifted  its  position. 
The  game  was  growing  acute,  critical,  desperate  even — and 
it  was  his  move. 

Larry  the  Bat,  disreputable  denizen  of  the  underworld, 
alias  Jimmie  Dale,  millionairs  clubman,  alias  the  Gray  Seal, 
whom  Carruthers  of  the  Morning  News-Argus  called  the 
master  criminal  of  the  age,  shuffled  along  in  the  direction 
of  the  Bowery,  his  hands  plunged  deep  in  the  pockets  of  his 
frayed  and  tattered  trousers,  where  his  fingers,  in  a  curi 
ous,  wistful  way,  fondled  the  keys  of  his  own  magnificent 
residence  on  Riverside  Drive.  It  was  his  move — and  it  was 
an  impasse,  ironical,  sardonic,  and  it  was  worse — it  was  full 
of  peril. 

True,  he  had  outwitted  Kline  of  the  secret  service  two 
nights  before,  when  Kline  had  raided  the  counterfeiters' 
den ;  true,  he  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  Kline  suspected 
him  specifically,  but  the  man  Kline  wanted  had  entered  the 
tenement  that  night,  and  since  then  the  house  had  been 
shadowed  day  and  night.  The  result  was  both  simple  and 
disastrous — to  Jimmie  Dale.  Larry  the  Bat,  a  known  in 
mate  of  the  house,  might  come  and  go  as  he  pleased — but 
to  emerge  from  the  Sanctuary  in  the  person  of  Jimmie  Dale 
would  be  fatal.  Kline  had  been  outwitted,  but  Kline  had  not 
acknowledged  final  defeat.  The  tenement  had  been  searched 
from  top  to  bottom — unostentatiously.  His  own  room  on 
the  first  landing  had  been  searched  the  previous  afternoon, 
when  he  was  out,  but  they  had  failed  tc  find  the  cunningly 

118 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN    119 

Contrived  opening  in  the  floor  under  the  oilcloth  in  the  cor 
ner,  an  impromptu  wardrobe,  that  would  proclaim  Larry  the 
Bat  and  Jimmie  Dale  to  be  one  and  the  same  person — that 
would  inevitably  lead  further  to  the  establishment  of  his 
identity  as  the  Gray  Seal.  In  time,  of  course,  the  surveil 
lance  would  cease — but  he  could  not  wait.  That  was  the 
monumental  irony  of  it — the  factor  that,  all  unknown  to 
Kline,  was  forcing  the  issue  hard  now.  It  was  his  move. 

Since,  years  ago  now,  as  the  Gray  Seal,  he  had  begun 
to  work  with  her,  that  unknown,  mysterious  accomplice  of 
his,  and  the  police,  stung  to  madness  both  by  the  virulent  and 
constant  attacks  of  the  press  and  by  the  humiliating  prod  of 
their  own  failures,  sought  daily,  high  and  low,  with  every  re 
source  at  their  command,  for  the  Gray  Seal,  he  had  never 
been  in  quite  so  strange  and  perilous  a  plight  as  he  found 
himself  at  that  moment.  To  preserve  inviolate  the  identity 
of  Larry  the  Bat  was  absolutely  vital  to  his  safety.  It  was 
the  one  secret  that  even  she,  who  so  strangely  appeared  to 
know  all  else  about  him,  he  was  sure,  had  not  discovered — • 
and  it  was  just  that,  in  a  way,  that  had  brought  the  present 
impossible  situation  to  pass. 

In  the  month  previous,  in  a  lull  between  those  letters  of 
hers,  he  had  set  himself  doggedly  and  determinedly  to  the 
renewed  task  of  what  had  become  so  dominantly  now  a  part 
of  his  very  existence — the  solving  of  her  identity.  And  for 
that  month,  as  the  best  means  to  the  end — means,  however, 
that  only  resulted  as  futilely  as  the  attempts  that  had  gone 
before — he  had  lived  mostly  as  Larry  the  Bat,  returning 
to  his  home  in  his  proper  person  only  when  occasion  and 
necessity  demanded  it.  He  had  been  going  home  that  even 
ing,  two  nights  before,  walking  along  Riverside  Drive,  when 
from  the  window  of  the  limousine  she  had  dropped  the  let 
ter  at  his  feet  that  had  plunged  him  into  the  affair  of  the 
Counterfeit  Five — and  he  had  not  gone  home!  Eventually, 
to  save  himself,  he  had,  in  the  Sanctuary,  performing  ths 
transformation  in  desperate  haste,  again  been  forced  to  as 
sume  the  role  of  Larry  the  Bat. 

That  was  really  the  gist  of  it    And  yesterday  morning  he 


120    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

had  remembered,  to  his  dismay,  that  he  had  had  little  or  no 
money  left  the  night  before.  He  had  intended,  of  course, 
to  replenish  his  supply — when  he  got  home.  Only  he  hadn't 
gone  home !  And  now  he  needed  money — needed  it  badly, 
desperately.  With  thousands  in  the  bank,  with  abundance 
even  in  his  safe,  in  his  own  den  at  home,  a  supply  kept  there 
always  for  an  emergency,  he  was  facing  actual  want — he 
rattled  two  dimes,  a  nickel,  and  a  few  odd  pennies  thought 
fully  against  the  keys  in  his  pocket. 

To  a  certain  extent,  old  Jason,  his  butler,  could  be  trusted. 
Jason  even  knew  that  mysterious  letters  of  tremendous 
secretive  importance  came  to  the  house,  and  the  old  man 
always  meant  well — but  he  dared  not  trust  even  Jason  with 
the  secret  of  his  dual  personality.  What  was  he  to  do? 
He  needed  money  imperatively — at  once.  Thanks  to  Kline, 
for  the  time  being,  at  least,  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the 
personality  of  Larry  the  Bat  by  the  simple  expedient  of 
slipping  into  the  clothes  of  Jimmie  Dale — he  must  live,  act, 
and  remain  Larry  the  Bat  until  the  secret  service  officer 
gave  up  the  hunt.  How  bridge  the  gulf  between  Jimmie 
Dale  and  Larry  the  Bat  in  old  Jason's  eyes! 

Nor  was  that  all.  There  was  still  another  matter,  and  one 
that,  in  order  to  counteract  it,  demanded  at  once  a  serious 
inroad — to  the  extent  of  a  telephone  call — upon  his  slender 
capital.  A  too  prolonged  and  unaccounted-for  absence  from 
home,  and  old  Jason,  in  his  anxious,  blundering  solicitude, 
would  have  the  fat  in  the  fire  at  that  end — and  the  city,  and 
the  social  firmament  thereof,  would  be  humming  with  the 
startling  news  of  the  disappearance  of  a  well-known  million 
aire.  The  complications  that  would  then  ensue,  with  himself 
powerless  to  lift  a  finger,  Jimmie  Dale  did  not  care  to  think 
about — such  a  contretemps  must  at  all  hazards  be  prevented. 

Jimmie  Dale  reached  the  corner  of  the  street,  where  it 
intersected  the  Bowery,  and  paused  languidly  by  the  curb. 
No  one  appeared  to  be  following.  He  had  not  expected 
that  there  would  be — but  it  was  as  well  to  be  sure.  He 
walked  then  a  few  steps  along  the  Bowery — and  slipped 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN    121 

saddenly  into  a  doorway,  from  where  he  could  command  a 
view  of  the  street  corner  that  he  had  just  left.  At  the  end 
of  ten  minutes,  satisfied  that  no  one  had  any  concern  in  hif 
immediate  movements,  he  shambled  on  again  down  the  Bow 
ery. 

There  was  a  saloon  two  blocks  away  that  boasted  a  pri 
vate  telephone  booth.  Jimmie  Dale  made  that  his  destina 
tion. 

Larry  the  Bat  was  a  very  well-known  character  in  that 
resort,  and  the  bullet-headed  dispenser  of  drinks  behind  the 
bar  nodded  unctuously  to  him  over  the  heads  of  those  clus 
tered  at  the  rail  as  he  entered ;  Larry  the  Bat,  as  befitted  one 
of  the  elite  of  the  underworld,  was  graciously  pleased  to 
acknowledge  the  proletariat  salutation  with  a  curt  nod.  He 
walked  down  to  the  end  of  the  room,  entered  the  telephone 
booth — and  was  carelessly  careful  to  close  the  door  tightly 
behind  him. 

He  gave  the  number  of  his  residence  on  Riverside  Drive, 
auid  waited  for  the  connection.  After  some  delay,  Jason's 
Voice  answe/ed  him. 

"  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  matter-of-fact  tones,  "  I 
shall  be  out  of  the  city  for  another  three  or  four  days,  pos- 
eibly  a  week,  and — "  he  stopped  abruptly,  as  a  sort  of  ^asp 
came  to  him  over  the  wire. 

'*  Thank  God  that's  you,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the  old  butler 
wildly.  "  I've  been  near  mad,  sir,  all  day !  " 

"  Don't  get  excited,  Jason !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  a  little 
sharply.  "  The  mere  matter  of  my  absence  for  the  last  two 
days  is  nothing  to  cause  you  any  concern.  And  while  I  am 
on  the  subject,  Jas^n,  let  me  say  now  that  I  shall  be  glad 
if  you  will  bear  that  fa  :t  in  mind  in  future." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  stammered  Jason.  "  But,  sir,  it  ain't  that- 
good  Lord,  Master  Jim,  it  ain't  that,  sir!  It's — it's  one  of 
them  letters." 

Something  like  a  galvanic  shock  seemed  to  jerk  the  dis 
reputable,  loose-jointed  frame  of  Larry  the  Bat  suddenly 
erect — and  a  strained  whiteness  crept  over  the  dirty,  un 
washed  face- 


122    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALb 

"  Go  on,  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  without  a  quiver  ft 
his  voice. 

"  It  came  this  morning,  sir — that  shuffer  with  his  auto 
mobile  left  it.  I  had  just  time  to  say  you  weren't  at  home, 
sir,  and  he  was  gone.  And  then,  sir,  there  ain't  been  an 
hour  gone  by  all  through  the  day  that  a  woman,  sir — a 
lady,  begging  your  pardon,  Master  Jim — hasn't  rung  up  on 
the  telephone,  asking  if  you  were  back,  and  if  I  could  get 
you,  and  where  you  were,  and  half  frantic,  sir,  half  sobbing, 
sometimes,  sir,  and  saying  there  was  a  life  hanging  on  it, 
Master  Jim." 

Larry  the  Bat,  staring  into  the  mouthpiece  of  the  instru 
ment,  subconsciously  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead, 
and  subconsciously  noted  that  his  fingers,  as  he  drew  them 
away,  were  damp. 

"  Where  is  the  letter  now,  Jason  ?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale 
coolly. 

"  Here  on  your  desk,  Master  Jim.  Shall  I  bring  it  to 
you?" 

Bring  it  to  him!  How?  When?  Where?  Bring  it  to 
him !  The  ghastly  irony  of  it !  Jimmie  Dale  tried  to  think 
— prodding,  spurring  desperately  that  keen,  lightning  brain 
of  his  that  had  never  failed  him  yet.  How  bridge  the  gul* 
between  Larry  the  Bat  and  Jimmie  Dale  in  Jason's  eyes — 
not  just  for  the  replenishing  of  funds  now,  but  with  a  life  at 
stake ! 

"  No — I  think  not,  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  calmly. 
**  Just  leave  it  where  it  is.  And  if  she  telephones  again,  say 
that  you  have  told  me — that  will  be  sufficient  to  satisfy  any 
further  inquiries.  And  Jason " 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"If  she  telephones  again,  try  and  find  out  where  the  call 
comes  from." 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  what  you  said  once,  Master  Jim, 
sir,"  said  the  old  man  eagerly.  "  And  I've  been  trying  that, 
sir,  all  day.  They've  all  come  from  different  pay  stations, 
sir." 

A  mirthless  little  smile  tinged  Jimmie  Dale's  lips.  Ot 
fiourse  1  He  rnigh*.  have  known  I  It  was  always  that  way 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN     128 

always  the  same.  He  was  as  near  to  the  solution  of  her  iden 
tity  at  that  moment  as  he  had  been  years  ago,  when  she,  in 
some  mysterious  way,  alone  of  all  the  world,  had  identified 
him  as  the  Gray  Seal ! 

"  Very  good,  Jason,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Don't  bother  about 
it  any  more.  It  will  be  all  right.  You  can  expect  me  when 
you  see  me.  Good-night."  He  hung-  the  receiver  on  the 
hook,  walked  out  of  the  booth,  and  mechanically  reached 
the  street. 

All  right !  It  was  far  from  "  all  right " — very  far  from 
it.  It  was  no  trivial  thing,  that  letter;  they  never  had  been 
trivial  things,  those  letters  of  hers,  that  involved  so  often 
a  matter  of  life  and  death — as  this  one  now,  perhaps,  as  her 
actions  would  seem  to  indicate,  involved  life  and  death  more 
urgently  than  any  that  had  gone  before.  It  was  far  from 
all  right — at  a  moment  when  his  own  position,  his  own 
safety,  was  at  best  but  a  desperate  chance ;  when  his  every 
energy,  brain,  wit,  and  cunning  were  taxed  to  the  utmost  to 
save  himself !  And  yet,  somehow,  some  way,  at  any  cost, 
he  must  get  that  letter — and  at  any  cost  he  must  act  upon 
it !  To  fail  her  was  to  fail  utterly  in  everything  that  failure 
in  its  most  miserable,  its  widest  sense,  implied — failure  in 
that  which  rose  paramount  to  every  other  consideration  in 
life! 

Fail  her !  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  thinned  into  a  hard,  drawn 
line — and  then  parted  slowly  in  a  curiously  whimsical  smile, 
It  would  be  a  strange  burglary  that  he  had  decided  upon,  in 
order  that  he  might  not  fail  her — stranger  than  any  the  Gray 
Seal  had  ever  committed,  and,  in  some  respects,  even  more 
perilous ! 

He  started  along  the  Bowery,  walking  briskly  now,  to* 
ward  the  nearest  subway  station,  at  Astor  Place,  his  mind 
for  the  moment  electing  to  face  the  situa  ion  in  a  humour 
as  vhimsical  as  his  smile.  Supposing  that,  as  Larry  the 
Bat,  he  were  caught  and  arrested  during  the  next  hour,  in 
Jimmie's  Dale's  residence  on  Riverside  Drive !  With  his  ar 
rest  as  Larry  the  Bat,  Jimmie's  Dale  would  automatically 
disappear.  Would  follow  then  the  suspicion  that  Jimtni* 


Dale,  the  millionaire,  had  met  with  foul  play,  and  as  time 
went  on,  and  Jimmie  Dale,  being  then  in  prison  as  Larry 
the  Bat,  did  not  reappear,  the  assurance  of  it ;  then  the 
certainty  that  suspicion  would  focus  on  Larry  the  Bat  as 
being  connected  with  the  millionaire's  death,  since  Larry  the 
Bat  had  been  caught  in  Jimmie  Dale's  home — and  he  would 
be  accused  of  his  own  murder !  It  was  quite  humourous,  of 
course,  quite  grotesquely  bizarre — but  it  was  equally  an  ex 
ceedingly  grim  possibility !  There  were  drawbacks  to  a 
dual  personality ! 

"  In  a  word,"  confided  Jimmie  Dale  softly  to  himself,  and 
a  serious  light  crept  into  the  dark,  steady  eyes,  "  I'm  in  a 
bit  of  a  nasty  mess  !  " 

At  Astor  Place  he  entered  the  subway;  at  Fourteenth 
Street  he  changed  to  an  express,  and  at  Ninety-sixth  Street 
he  got  out.  It  was  but  a  short  walk  west  to  Riverside 
Drive,  and  from  there  his  house  was  only  a  few  blocks 
farther  on. 

Jimmie  Dale  did  not  slouch  now.  And  for  all  his  disrep 
utable  attire,  incongruous  as  it  was  in  that  neighbourhood, 
few  people  that  he  passed  paid  any  attention  to  him,  none 
gave  him  more  than  a  casual  glance — Jimmie  Dale  swung 
along,  upright,  with  no  attempt  to  make  himself  inconspicu 
ous,  hurrying  a  little,  as  one  intent  upon  a  definite  errand. 
As  he  neared  his  house  he  slowed  his  pace  a  little  until  a 
couple,  who  were  passing  in  front  of  it,  had  gone  on ;  then 
he  went  up  the  steps,  but  noiselessly  as  a  shadow  now,  to 
the  front  door,  opened  it  softly,  closed  it  softly  behind  him, 
and  crouched  for  a  moment  in  the  vestibule. 

Through  the  monogrammed  lace  on  the  plate  glass  of  the 
inner  doors  he  could  see,  a  little  indistinctly,  into  the  recep 
tion  hall  beyond.  The  hall  was  empty.  Jason,  for  that 
matter,  would  be  the  only  one  likely  to  be  about ;  the  other 
servants  would  have  no  business  there  in  any  case,  and 
whether  in  their  quarters  above  or  below,  they  had  their 
own  stairs  at  the  rear. 

Jimmie  Dale  inserted  the  key  in  the  spring  lock,  and  opened 
the  door  a  cautious  fraction  of  an  inch — to  listen.  Ther* 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN     12S 

H  as  no  sound — yes,  a  subdued  murmured — the  servants  were 
downstairs  in  the  basement.  He  slipped  inside,  slipped,  in 
a  flash,  across  the  hall,  and,  treading  like  a  cat,  went  up 
the  stairs.  He  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe  until,  with  a  little 
sigh  of  relief,  he  stood  inside  his  den  on  the  first  floor,  with 
the  door  shut  behind  him. 

"  I  must  speak  to  Jason  about  being  a  little  more  watch 
ful,"  muttered  Jimmie  Dale  facetiously.  "  Here's  all  my 
property  at  the  mercy  of — Larry  the  Bat !  " 

An  instant  he  stood  by  the  door,  looking  about  him — in 
the  bright  moonlight  streaming  in  through  the  side  windows 
the  room's  appointments  stood  out  in  soft  shadows,  the  huge 
davenport,  the  great,  luxurious  easy-chairs,  an  easel  with  a 
half-finished  canvas,  as  he  had  left  it;  the  big,  flat-topped, 
rosewood  desk,  the  open  fireplace — and  then,  his  steps 
silent  on  the  thick  velvet  rug  under  foot,  he  walked  quickly 
to  the  desk. 

Yes,  there  it  was — the  letter.  He  placed  it  hurriedly  in 
his  pocket — the  moonlight  was  not  strong  enough  to  read  by> 
and  he  dared  not  turn  on  the  lights. 

And  now  money — funds.  In  the  alcove  behind  the 
portiere,  Jimmie  Dale  dropped  on  his  knees  before  the  squat, 
barrel-shaped  safe,  and  opened  t.  He  reached  inside,  took 
out  a  package  of  banknotes,  r  .aced  the  bills  in  his  pocket 
— and  hesitated  a  moment.  What  else  would  he  require? 
What  act  did  that  letter  call  upon  the  Gray  Seal  to  perform 
in  the  next  few  hours?  Jimmie  Dale  stared  thoughtfully 
ino  the  interior  of  the  safe.  Whatever  it  was,  it  must  be 
performed  in  the  role  of  Larry  the  Bat,  for  though  he  could 
get  into  his  dressing  room  now,  and  become  Jimmie  Dale 
again,  there  were  still  those  watchers  outside  the  Sanctuary 
• — they  must  not  become  suspicious — and  if  Larry  the  Bat 
disappeared  mysteriously,  Larry  the  Bat  would  be  the  man 
that  Kline  and  the  secret  service  of  the  United  States  would 
never  cease  hunting  for,  and  that  would  mean  that  he  could 
never  reassume  a  character  that  was  as  necessary  for  hi« 
protection  as  breath  was  to  life,  so  long  as  the  Gray  Seai 
worked.  True,  he  could  change  now  to  Jimmie  Dale.  b»tf 


126    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

he  would  have  to  change  back  again  and  return  to  the 
Sanctuary  before  morning,  as  Larry  the  Bat — and  rernaip 
there  until  Kline,  beaten,  called  off  his  human  bloodhounds, 
No,  a  change  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

What,  then,  would  he  require — that  compact  little  kit  of 
burglar  tools,  rolled  in  its  leather  jacket,  that,  unrolled, 
slipped  about  his  body  like  a  close-fitting  undervest?  As 
well  to  take  it  anyway.  He  removed  his  coat  and  vest,  took 
out  the  leather  bundle  from  the  safe,  untied  the  thongs  that 
bound  it  together,  unrolled  it,  passed  it  around  his  body,  life 
belt  fashion,  secured  the  thongs  over  his  shoulders,  and  put 
on  his  coat  and  vest  again.  A  revolver,  a  flashlight?  He 
had  both — at  the  Sanctuary,  under  the  flooring — but  there 
were  duplicates  here!  He  slipped  them  into  his  pockets. 
Anything  else — to  forestall  and  provide  for  any  possible 
contingency?  He  hesitated  again  for  a  moment,  thinking, 
then  slowly  closed  the  inner  door  of  the  safe,  locked  it, 
iwung  the  outer  door  shut — and,  in  the  act  of  twirling  the 
fcnobs,  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet.  Sharp,  shrill  in  the  still 
ness  of  the  room,  the  telephone  bell  on  the  desk  rang  out 
clamourously. 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  set  hard,  as  he  leaped  out  from  be, 
hind  the  curtain — had  Jason  heard  it!  It  rang  again  before 
he  could  reach  the  desk — was  ringing  as  he  snatched  the 
receiver  from  the  hook. 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  he  called,  in  a  low,  guarded,  hasty  way, 
into  the  mouthpiece.  "Hello!  What  is  it?"  And  then 
one  hand,  resting  on  the  desk,  closed  around  the  edge,  and 
tightened  until  the  skin  over  the  knuckles  grew  ivory  white. 
It  was — she!  She!  It  was  her  voice — he  had  only  heard 
it  once  in  all  his  life — that  night,  two  nights  before,  in  a 
silvery  laugh  from  the  limousine  as  it  had  sped  away  from 
him  down  the  road — but  he  knew !  It  thrilled  him  now  with 
a  mad  rhapsody,  robbing  him  for  the  moment  of  every 
thought  save  that  she  was  living,  real,  existent — that  it  was 
her  voice.  "  It's  you — you!"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"  Oh,  Timmie — you  at  last !  " — it  came  in  a  little  gasping 
cry  of  relief.  "  The  letter " 


"  Yes,  I've  got  it— it's  all  right— it's  all  right  " — the  words 
would  not  seem  to  come  fast  enough  in  his  desperate  haste. 
*  But  it's  you  now.  Listen !  Listen !  "  he  pleaded.  "  Tel? 
me  who  you  are!  My  God!  how  I've  tried  to  find  you, 
and " 

That  rippling,  silvery  laugh  again,  but  now,  too,  it  seemed 
to  his,  eager  ear,  with  just  the  faintest  note  of  wistfulness 
in  it. 

"  Some  day,  Jimmie.    That  letter  now.    It " 

Jimmie  Dale  straightened  up  suddenly — Jason's  steps, 
running,  sounded  outside  the  room  along  the  corridor — there 
was  not  an  instant  to  lose. 

"  Hang  up  !  Good-bye !  Danger !  Don't  ring  again !  " 
lie  whispered  hurriedly,  and,  with  a  miserable  smile,  re 
placing  the  receiver  bitterly  on  the  hook,  he  jumpd  for  the 
Curtain. 

He  reached  it  none  too  soon.  The  door  opened,  an  eleo 
iric-light  switch  clicked,  and  the  room  was  flooded  with  light. 
Jason,  still  running,  headed  for  the  desk. 

"  It'll  be  her  again ! "  Jimmie  Dale  heard  the  old  man 
mutter,  as  from  the  edge  of  the  portiere  he  watched  the 
other's  actions. 

Jason  picked  up  the  telephone. 

"  Hello !  Hello !  "  he  called — then  began  to  click  im 
patiently  with  the  receiver  hook.  "Hello!  .  .  .  Who? 
.  .  .  Central?  ...  I  don't  want  any  number — some^ 
body  was  calling  here.  .  .  .  V/hat?  .  .  .  Nobody  on 
the  wire ! " 

He  set  the  telephone  back  on  the  desk  with  a  bewildered 
air. 

"  That's  queer !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  could  have  sworn  I 

heard  it  ring  twice,  and "  He  stopped  abruptly,  and, 

leaning  across  the  desk,  hung  there,  wide-eyed,  staring, 
while  a  sickly  pallor  began  to  steal  into  his  face.  "  The 
letter  I  "  he  mumbled  wildly.  "  The  letter — Master  Jim's 
letter — the  letter — it's  gone!" 

Trembling,  excited,  the  old  man  began  to  search  the  desk, 
•ihen  down  on  his  knees  OH  the  floor  under  it;  and 


128    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

growing  more  frantic  with  every  instant,  rose  and  began  to 
hunt  around  the  room  in  an  agitated,  aimless  fashion. 

Jason's  distress  was  very  real — he  was  almost  beside  him 
self  now  with  fear  and  anxiety.  A  whimsical,  affectionate 
smile  played  over  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  at  the  old  man's  antics 
— and  changed  suddenly  into  one  of  consternation.  Jason 
was  making  directly  now  for  the  curtain  behind  which  he 
stood!  Perhaps,  though,  he  would  pass  it  by,  and — Jason's 
hand  reached  out  and  grasped  the  portiere. 

"  Jason  !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  sharply. 

The  old  man  staggered  back  as  though  he  had  been  struck* 
tried  to  speak,  choked,  and  gazed  at  the  curtain  with  dis 
tended  eyes. 

"  Is — is  that  you,  sir — Master  Jim — behind  the  curtain 
there  ?  "  he  finally  blurted  out.  "  I — sir — you  gave  me  a 
start — and  the  letter,  Master  Jim — 

"  Don't  lose  your  head,  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dah  coolly 
"  I've  got  the  letter.  Now  do  as  I  bid  you." 

"  Yes — Master  Jhn,"  faltered  the  old  man. 

"  Pull  down  the  window  shades  and  draw  the  portiere* 
together,"  directed  Jimmie  Dale. 

Jason,  still  overwrought  and  excited,  obeyed  a  little  awk 
wardly. 

"  Now  the  lights,  Jason,"  instructed  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Turn 
them  off,  and  go  and  sit  down  in  that  chair  at  the  desk." 

Again  Jason  obeyed,  stumbling  in  the  darkness  as  he  re-. 
turned  from  the  electric-light  switch  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  room.  He  sat  down  in  the  chair. 

Larry  the  Bat  stepped  out  from  behind  the  curtain. 

"  I  came  for  that  letter,  Jason,"  he  explained  quietly.  "  I 
am  going  out  again  now.  I  may  be  back  to-morrow ;  I  may 
not  be  back  for  a  week.  You  will  say  nothing,  not  a  word, 
of  my  having  been  here  to-night.  Do  you  understand, 
Jason?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Jason;  then  hesitantly:  "Would  you 
mind  saying,  sir,  when  you  came  in  ?  " 

"It's  of  no  consequence,  Jason — is  it?" 

"  No.  sir/'  said  Jasoa. 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN     15M» 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled  in  the  darkness 

"Jason!" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  wish  you  to  remain  where  you  are,  without  leaving  thaii 
chair,  for  the  next  ten  minutes."  He  moved  across  the  roonc 
to  the  door.  "  Good-night,  Jason,"  he  said. 

"Good-night.  Master  Jtm — good-night,  sir — oh,  Lord!*1' 

Jimmie  Dale  did  not  require  that  ten  minutes;  it  was  a 
very  wide  margin  of  safety  to  obviate  the  possibility  of  Jason, 
from  a  window,  detecting  the  exit  of  a  disreputable  character 
from  the  house — in  three  minutes  he  was  turnirg  the  cornet 
of  the  first  cross  street  and  walking  rapidly  away  from 
Riverside  Drive. 

In  the  subway  station  Jimmie  Dale  read  the  letter — reaa 
it  twice  over,  as  he  always  read  those  strange  epistles  of  hers 
that  opened  the  door  to  new  peril,  new  danger  to  the  Gray 
Seal,  but  too,  that  seemed  somehow  to  draw  tighter,  in  a 
glad,  big  way,  the  unseen  bond  between  them ;  read  it,  as  he 
always  read  those  letters,  almost  subconsciously  committing 
the  very  words  to  memory  with  that  keen  faculty  of  brain  of 
his.  But  now  as  he  began  to  tear  the  sheet  and  envelope  inter 
minute  particles,  a  strained,  hard  look  was  on  his  face  and 
in  his  eyes,  an '  his  lips,  half  parted,  moved  a  little. 

"  It's  a  death  warrant,"  muttered  Jimmie  Dale.  *  I — I 
guess  to-night  will  see  the  end  of  the  Gray  Seal.  She  says  I 
needn't  do  it,  but  I  guess  it's  worth  the  risk — a  human 
life!" 

A  downtown  express  roared  into  the  station. 

*'  What  time  is  it?  "  Jimmie  Dale  asked  trie  guard,  as  he 
Stepped  aboard. 

"  'Bout  midnight,"  the  man  answered  tersely. 

The  forward  car  was  almost  empty,  and  Jimmie  Dale 
chose  a  seat  by  himself .  How  did  she  know ?  How  did  she 
know  not  only  this,  but  the  hundred  other  affairs  that  she 
had  outlined  in  those  letters  of  hers?  By  what  means, 

superhuman,  indeed,  it  seemed,  did  she Jimmie  Dale 

jerked  himself  erect  suddenly.  What  good  did  it  do  to 
tpeculate  on  that  now,  when  every  minute  was  priceless 


What  was  he  to  do,  how  was  he  to  act,  what  plan  could  he 
formulate  and  carry  out,  and  win  against  odds  that,  at  the 
outset,  were  desperate  enough  even  to  forecast  almost  certain 
failure — and  death  ! 

Who  would  ever  have  suspected  old  Tom  Ludgate,  known 
for  years  throughout  the  squalour  of  the  East  Side  as  old 
Luddy,  the  pushcart  man,  of  having  a  bag  of  unset  diamonds 
tinder  his  pillow — or  under  the  sack,  rather,  that  he  probably 
used  for  a  pillow !  What  a  queer  thing  to  do !  But  then, 
old  Luddy  was  a  character — apparently  always  in  the  most 
poverty-stricken  condition,  apparently  hardly  more  than 
keeping  body  and  soul  together,  trusting  no  one,  and  obsessed 
by  the  dread  that  by  depositing  in  a  bank  some  one  would 
discover  that  he  had  money,  and  attempt  to  force  it  from 
him,  he  had  put  his  savings,  year  after  year,  for  twenty 
years,  twenty-five  years,  perhaps,  into  unset  stones — • 
diamonds.  How  had  she  found  that  out? 

Jimmie  Dale  sank  into  a  deeper  reverie.  He  could  steal 
them  all  right,  and  they  would  be  well  worth  the  stealing — • 
old  Luddy  had  done  well,  and  lived  and  existed  on  next  to 
nothing — the  stones,  she  said,  were  worth  about  fifteen  thou 
sand  dollars.  Not  so  bad,  even  for  twenty-five  years  of 
vegetable  selling  from  a  pushcart !  He  could  steal  them  all 
right ;  it  would  tax  the  Gray  Seal's  ingenuity  little  to  do  so 
simple,  a  thing  as  that,  but  that  was  not  all,  nor,  indeed, 
hardly  a  factor  in  it — it  was  vital  that  if  he  were  to  succeed 
at  ail  he  must  steal  them  publicly,  as  it  were. 

And  after  that — what?  His  own  chances  were  pretty 
siim  at  best.  Jimmie  Dale,  staring  at  the  grayness  of  the 
subway  wall  through  the  window,  shook  his  head  slowly — 
then,  with  a  queer  little  philosophi  al  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
he  smiled  gravely,  seriously.  It  was  all  a  part  of  the  game, 
all  a  part  of  the  life — of  the  Gray  Seal! 

It  was  half-past  twelve,  or  a  little  later,  as  nearly  as  he 
could  judge,  for  Larry  the  Bat  carried  no  such  ornate  thing 
in  evidence  as  a  watch,  as  he  halted  at  the  corner  of  a  dark, 
squalid  street  in  the  lower  East  Side.  It  was  a  miserable 
ocalitv — in  daylight  humming  with  a  cosmopolitan  hive  ot 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN    131 

pitiful  humans  dragging  out  as  best  they  could  an  intolerable, 
existence,  a  locality  peopled  with  every  nationality  on  earth, 
their  community  of  interest  the  struggle  to  maintain  life  at 
the  lowest  possible  expenditure,  where  necessity  even  was 
pared  and  shaved  down  to  a  minimum;  but  now,  at  night 
time,  or  rather  in  the  early-morning  hours,  the  darkness,  in 
very  mercy,  it  seemed,  covered  it  with  a  veil,  as  it  were,  and 
in  the  quiet  that  hung  over  it  now  hid  the  bald,  the  hideous, 
aye,  and  the  piteous,  too,  from  view. 

It  was  a  narrow  street,  and  the  row  of  tenement  houses^ 
each  house  almost  identical  with  its  neighbour,  that  flanked 
the  pavement  on  either  side,  seemed,  from  where  Jimmie 
Dale  stood  looking  down  its  length,  from  the  corner,  to 
converge  together  at  a  point  a  little  way  beyond,  giving  it  an 
unreal,  ominous,  cavernlike  effect.  And,  too,  there  seemed 
something  ominous  even  in  its  quiet.  It  was  as  though  one 
sensed  acutely  the  crouching  of  some  Thing  in  its  lair — 
waiting  silently,  viciously,  with  sullen  patience. 

A  footstep  sounded — another.  Jimmie  Dale  drew  quickly 
back  around  the  corner  into  an  areaway.  Two  men  passed. 
— in  helmets — swinging  their  nightsticks — that  beat  was  al 
ways  policed  in  pairs ! 

They  passed  on,  turned  the  corner,  and  went  down  the 
narrow  cross  street  that  Jimmie  Dale  had  just  been  in 
specting.  He  started  to  follow — and  drew  back  again 
abruptly.  A  form  flitted  suddenly  across  the  road  and  dis 
appeared  in  the  darkness  in  the  officers'  wake — ten  yards 
behind  the  first  another  followed — at  the  same  interval  ot 
distance  still  another — and  yet  still  one  more — four  in.  all. 

The  darkness  hid  all  six,  the  two  policemen,  the  four  men 
behind  them — the  only  sounds  were  the  officers'  footsteps 
dying  away  in  the  distance. 

Jimmie  Dale's  fingers  were  mechanically  testing  the 
mechanism  of  the  automatic  in  his  pocket. 

"  The  Skeeter's  gang !  "  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  Red 
Mose,  the  Midget,  Harve  Thorns — and  the  Skeeter!  The 
worst  apaches  in  the  city  of  New  York ;  death  contractors— 
*nd  the  lowest  bidders  !  Professional  assassins,  and  a  man** 


132    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

life  any  time  for  twenty-five  dollars !  I  wonder — I've  never 
done  it  yet — but  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  a  crime  in  God's 
sight  if  one  shot — to  kill!" 

Jimmie  Dale  was  at  the  corner  again — again  the  street 
before  him  was  black,  deserted,  empty.  He  chose  the  right- 
hand  side,  and,  well  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses,  as  an  extra 
precaution,  stole  along  silently.  He  stopped  finally  before 
one  where,  in  the  doorway,  hung  a  little  sign.  Jimmie  Dale 
mounted  the  porch,  and  with  his  eyes  close  to  the  sign  could 
just  make  out  the  larger  words  in  the  big  printed  type' 

ROOM  TO  RENT 
TOP  FLOOR 

Jimmie  Dale  nodded.  That  was  right.  The  first  house  on 
die  right-hand  side,  with  the  room-to-rent  sign,  her  letter 
had  said.  His  fingers  were  testing  the  doorknob.  The  door 
was  not  locked. 

"  Naturally,  it  wouldn't  be  locked,"  Jimmie  Dale  told  him 
self  grimly — and  stepped  inside. 

He  stood  for  an  instant  without  movement,  every  faculty 
on  the  alert.  Far  up  above  him  a  step,  guarded  though  his 
trained  ear  made  it  out  to  be,  creaked  faintly  upon  the 
stairs — there  was  no  other  sound.  The  creaking,  almost 
inaudible  at  its  loudest,  receded  farther  up — and  silence  fell. 

In  the  darkness,  noiselessly,  Jimmie  Dale  groped  for  the 
stairway,  found  it,  and  began  to  ascend.  The  minutes 
passed — it  seemed  a  minute  even  from  step  to  step,  and  there 
were  three  flights  to  the  top!  There  must  be  no  creaking 
this  time — the  slightest  sound,  he  knew  well  enough,  would 
be  not  only  fatal  to  the  work  he  had  to  do,  but  probably  fatal 
to  himself  as  well.  He  had  been  near  deah  many  times — 
the  consciousness  that  he  was  nearer  to  it  now,  possibly,  than 
he  had  ever  been  before,  seemed  to  stimulate  his  senses  into 
acute  and  abnormal  energy.  And,  too,  the  physical  effort, 
as,  step  by  step,  the  flexed  muscles  relaxing  so  slowly,  little 
yy  little,  gradually,  each  time  as  he  found  foothold  on  the 
higher  up,  was  a  terrific  strain.  At  the  top  his  faoe 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN     133 


was  bathed  in  perspiration,  and  he  wiped  it  off  with  his 
sleeve. 

It  was  still  dark  here,  intensely  dark,  and  his  eyes,  though 
grown  accustomed  to  it,  could  make  out  nothing  but  the 
deeper  shadow  of  the  walls.  But  thanks  to  her,  always  a 
mistress  of  accurate  and  minute  detail,  he  possessed  a  mental 
plan  of  his  surroundings.  The  head  of  the  stairs  gave  on 
the  middle  of  the  hallway  —  the  hallway  ran  to  his  right  and 
left.  To  his  right,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  was  the 
door  of  old  Luddy's  squalid  two-room  apartment. 

For  a  moment  Jimmie  Dale  stood  hesitant  —  a  sudden 
perplexity  and  anxiety  growing  upon  him.  It  was  strange! 
What  did  it  mean?  He  had  nerved  himself  to  a  quick, 
desperate  attempt,  trusting  to  surprise  and  his  own  wit  and 
agility  for  victory  —  there  had  seemed  no  other  way  than 
that,  since  he  had  seen  those  four  men  at  the  corner  —  since 
they  were  ahead  of  him.  True,  they  were  not  much  ahead 
of  him,  not  enough  to  have  accomplished  their  purpose  — 
and,  furthermore,  they  were  not  in  that  room.  He  knew 
that  absolutely,  beyond  question  of  doubt.  He  had  listened 
for  just  that  all  the  nerve-racking  way  up  the  stairs.  But 
where  were  they  ?  There  was  no  sound  —  not  a  sound  —  just 
blackness,  dark,  impenetrable,  utter,  that  began  to  palpitate 
now. 

It  came  in  a  whisper,  wavering,  sibilant  —  from  his  left. 
A  sort  of  relief,  fierce  in  the  breaking  of  the  tense  expectancy, 
premonitory  in  the  possibilities  that  it  held,  swept  Jimmie 
Dale.  He  crept  along  the  hall.  The  whisper  had  come 
from  that  room,  presumably  empty  —  that  was  for  rent! 

By  the  door  he  crouched  —  his  sensitive  fingers,  eyes  to 
Jimmie  Dale  so  often  —  feeling  over  jamb  and  panels  with  a 
delicate,  soundless  touch.  The  door  was  just  ajar.  The 
fingers  crept  inside  and  touched  the  knob  and  lock  —  there 
was  no  key  within. 

The  whispering  still  went  on  —  but  it  seemed  like  a  scream 
ing  of  vultures  now  in  Jimmie  Dale's  ears,  as  the  words  came 
to  him. 

"  Aw,  say.  Skeeter,  dis  high-brow  stunt  gives  me  de  pip* 


13 1    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Me  fer  goin'  in  dere  an'  croakin'  de  geezer  reg'lar,  widotri 
de  frills.  Who's  to  know?  Say,  just  about  two  minutes, 
an'  we're  beatin'  it  wid  de  sparklers." 

An  inch,  a  half  inch  at  a  time,  the  knob  slowly,  very,  very 
slowly  turning,  the  door  was  being  closed  by  the  crouched 
form  on  the  threshold. 

"  Close  yer  trap,  Mose !  "  came  a  fierce  response.  "  We 
ain't  fixed  the  lay  all  day  for  nothin'.  There  ain't  a  soul  on 
earth  knows  he's  got  any  sparklers,  'cept  us.  If  there  was, 
it  would  be  different — then  they'd  know  that  was  what  who 
ever  did  it  was  after,  see  ?  " 

The  door  was  closed — the  knob  slowly,  very,  very  slowly 
being  released  again.  From  one  of  the  leather  pockets 
under  Jimmie  Dale's  vest  came  a  tiny  steel  instrument  that 
fie  inserted  in  the  key-hole. 

The  same  voice  spoke  on: 

"  That's  what  we're  croaking  him  for,  'cause  nobody 
imows  about  them  diamonds,  and  so's  he  can't  tell  anybody 
afterward  that  any  were  pinched.  An'  that's  why  it's  got  to 
!ook  like  he  just  got  tired  of  living  and  did  it  himself.  I 
guess  that'll  hold  the  police  when  they  find  the  poor  old  duck 
hanging  from  the  ceiling,  with  a  bit  of  cord  around  his  neck, 
and  a  chair  kicked  out  from  under  his  feet  on  the  floor. 
Ain't  you  got  the  brains  of  a  louse  to  see  that?  " 

"  Sure  " — the  whisper  came  dully,  in  grudging  intonation 
through  the  panels — the  door  was  locked.  "  Sure,  but  it's  de 
hangin'  'round  waitin*  to  get  busy  that's  gettin'  me  goat, 
an'- " 

Jimmie  Dale  straightened  up  and  began  to  retreat  along 
the  corridor.  A  merciless  rage  was  upon  him  now,  every 
fiber  of  his  being  seemed  to  tingle  and  quiver  with  it — the 
damnable,  hellish  ingenuity  of  it  all  seemed  to  choke  and 
suffocate  him. 

"  Luck !  "  muttered  Jimmie  Dale  between  his  clenched 
teeth.  "  Oh,  the  blessed  luck  to  get  that  door  locked!  I've 
got  time  now  to  set  the  stage  for  my  own  get-away  before 
tfie  showdown !  " 

He  stole  on  along  the  corridor.    Excerpts  from  her  letter 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN    135 


running  through  his  brain  :  "  It  would  do  no  good  to 
warn  him,  Jimmie  —  the  Skeeter  and  his  gang  would  never 
let  up  on  him  until  they  got  the  stones.  ...  It  would 
do  no  good  for  you  to  steal  them  first,  for  they  would  only 
take  that  as  a  ruse  of  old  Luddy's,  and  murder  the  man  first 
and  hunt  afterward.  ...  In  some  way  you  must  let 
the  Skeeter  see  you  steal  them,  make  them  think,  make  them 
certain  that  it  is  a  bona-fide  theft,  so  that  they  will  no  longer 
have  any  interest  or  any  desire  to  do  old  Luddy  harm.  .  .  . 
And  for  it  to  appear  real  to  them,  it  must  appear  real  to  old 
Luddy  himself  —  do  not  take  any  chances  there." 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  narrowed.  Yes,  it  was  simple  enough 
now  with  that  pack  of  hell's  wolves  guarded  for  the  moment 
by  a  locked  door,  forced  to  give  him  warning  by  breaking  the 
door  before  they  could  get  out.  It  was  simple  enough  now 
to  enter  old  Luddy's  room,  steal  the  stones  at  the  revolver 
point,  then  make  enough  disturbance  —  when  he  was  ready  — 
to  set  the  gang  in  motion,  and,  as  they  rushed  in  open  him, 
to  make  his  escape  with  the  stones  to  the  roof  through 
Luddy's  room.  That  was  simple  enough  —  there  was  an 
opening  to  the  roof  in  Luddy's  room,  she  had  said,  and  there 
was  a  ladder  kept  there  in  place.  On  hot  nights,  it  seemed, 
the  old  man  used  to  go  up  there  and  sleep  on  the  roof  —  not 
now,  of  course.  It  was  too  late  in  the  year  for  that  —  but  the 
opening  in  the  roof  was  there,  and  the  ladder  remained  there, 
too. 

Yes,  it  was  simple  enough  now.  And  the  next  morning 
the  papers  would  rave  with  execrations  against  the  Gray 
Seal  —  for  the  robbery  of  the  life  savings  of  a  poor,  defense 
less  old  man,  for  committing  as  vile  and  pitiful  a  crime  as 
had  ever  stirred  New  York  !  Even  Carruthers,  of  the  Morn 
ing  News-Argus,  would  be  moved  to  bitter  attack.  Good 
old  Carruthers  —  who  little  thought  that  the  Gray  Seal  was 
his  old  college  pal,  his  present  most  intimate  friend,  Jimmie 
Dale  !  And  afterward  —  after  the  next  morning  ?  Well,  that, 
at  least,  had  never  been  in  doubt.  Old  Luddy  could  be  made 
to  leave  New  York,  and,  once  away,  with  the  Skeeter  and  his 
gang  robbed  of  incentive  to  pay  any  further  attention  to  him,. 


136    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  stones  could  be  secretly  returned  to  the  old  man.  And 
it  would  to  the  public,  to  the  police,  be  just  another  of  the 
Gray  Seal's  crimes — that  was  all ! 

Jimmie  Dale  had  reached  old  Luddy's  door.  The  Gray 
Seal?  Oh,  yes,  they  would  know  it  was  the  Gray  Seal — the 
insignia  was  familiar  enough;  familiar  to  the  crooks  of  the 
underworld,  who  held  it  in  awe ;  familiar  to  the  police,  to 
whom  it  was  an  added  barb  of  ridicule.  He  was  placing  it 
now,  that  insignia,  a  diamond-shaped,  gray  paper  seal,  on 
the  panel  of  the  door;  and  now,  a  black  silk  mask  adjusted 
over  his  face,  Jimmie  Dale  bent  to  insert  the  little  steel  instru 
ment  in  the  lock — a  pitiful,  paltry  thing,  a  cheap  lock, 
to  fingers  that  could  play  so  intimately  with  twirling  knobs 
and  dials,  masters  of  the  intricate  mechanism  of  vaults  and 
safes! 

And  then,  about  to  open  the  door,  a  sort  of  sudden  dismay 
fell  upon  him.  He  had  not  thought  of  that — somehow,  it 
had  not  occurred  to  him !  What  ivas  it  they  ivere  waiting 
•for?  Why  had  they  not  struck  at  once,  as,  when  he  had 
first  entered  the  house,  he  had  supposed  they  would  do? 
What  was  it?  Why  was  it?  Was  old  Luddy  out?  Were 
they  waiting  for  his  return — or  what? 

The  door,  without  sound,  moved  gradually  under  his 
hand.  A  faint  odor  assailed  his  nostrils !  It  was  dark,  very 
dark.  Across  the  room,  in  a  direct  line,  was  the  doorway 
of  the  inner  room — she  had  explained  that  in  her  letter.  It 
was  slow  progress  to  cross  that  room  without  sound,  in 
silence — it  was  a  snail's  movement — for  fear  that  even  a 
muscle  might  crack. 

And  now  he  stood  in  the  inner  doorway.  It  was  dark  here, 
too — and  yet,  how  bizarre,  a  star  seemed  to  twinkle  through 
the  very  roof  of  the  room  itself !  The  odour  was  pungent 
now.  There  was  a  long-drawn  sigh — then  a  low.  indescrib 
able  sound  of  movement.  Somebody,  apart  from  old  Luddy, 
was  in  the  room! 

It  swept,  the  full  consciousness  of  it,  upon  Jimmie  Dale  in 
an  instantaneous  flash.  Chloroform ;  the  open  scuttle  in  the 
foof ;  the  waiting  of  those  others— all  fused  into  a  compact. 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN    13f 

Sbgical  whole.  They  had  loosened  the  scuttle  during  the  day, 
probably  when  old  Luddy  was  away — one  of  them  had  crept 
down  there  now  to  chloroform  the  old  man  into  insensibility 
• — the  others  would  complete  the  ghastly  work  presently  by 
stringing  their  victim  up  to  the  ceiling — and  it  would  be 
suicide,  for,  long  before  morning  came,  long  before  the  old 
man  would  be  discovered,  the  fumes  of  the  chloroform  would 
be  gone. 

It  seemed  like  a  cold  hand,  deathlike,  clutching  at  his  heart. 
Was  he  too  late,  after  all !  Chloroform  alone  could — kill  I 
To  the  right,  just  a  little  to  the  right — he  must  make  no  mis 
take — his  ear  placed  the  sound !  He  whipped  his  hands  from 
the  side  pockets  of  his  coat — the  ray  of  his  flashlight  cut 
across  the  room  and  fell  upon  an  aged  face  upon  a  bed,  upon 
a  hand  clutching  a  wad  of  cloth,  the  cloth  pressed  horribly 
against  the  nose  and  mouth  of  the  upturned  face — and  then, 
roaring  in  the  stillness,  spitting  a  vicious  lane  of  fire  thaf 
paralleled  the  flashlight's  ray,  came  the  tongue  flame  of  his 
automatic. 

There  was  a  yell,  a  scream,  that  echoed  out,  reverberated, 
and  went  racketing  through  the  house,  and  J'rnmie  Dale 
leaped  forward — over  a  table,  sending  it  crashing  to  the 
floor.  The  man  had  reeled  back  against  the  wall,  clutching 
at  a  shattered  wrist,  staring  into  the  flashlight's  eye,  white* 
faced,  jaw  dropped,  lips  working  in  mingled  pain  and  fear. 

"  Harve  Thorns — you,  eh  ?  "  gritted  Jimmie  Dale. 

A  cunning  look  swept  the  distorted  face.  Here,  ap 
parently,  was  only  one  man — there  were  pals,  three  of  them, 
only  a  few  yards  away. 

"  You  ain't  got  nothing  on  me ! "  he  snarled,  sparring  for 
time.  "  You  police  are  too  damned  fresh  with  your  guns !  " 

"  I'll  take  yours ! "  snapped  Jimmie  Dale,  and  snatched  it 
deftly  from  the  other's  pocket.  "  This  ain't  any  police  job, 
my  bucko,  and  you  make  a  move  and  I'll  drop  you  for  keeps, 
if  what  you've  got  already  ain't  enough  to  teach  you  to  keep 
your  hands  off  jobs  that  belong  to  your  betters !  " 

He  was  working  with  mad  haste  as  he  spoke.    One 
tt  the  outside  was,  perhaps,  all  he  could  count  upon. 


138    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

ready  he  had  caught  the  rattle  of  the  locked  door  down  the 
hall.  He  lit  a  match  and  turned  on  the  gas  over  the  bed — it 
was  the  most  dangerous  thing  he  could  do — he  knew  that 
well  enough,  none  knew  it  better — it  was  offering  himself  as 
a  fair  mark  when  the  others  rushed  in,  as  they  would  in  a 
moment  now — but  the  Skeeter  and  his  gang  and  this  man 
here  must  have  no  misconception  of  his  purpose,  his  reason 
for  being  there,  the  same  as  their  own,  the  theft  of  the 
stones — and  no  misconception  as  to  his  success. 

"  Y'ain't  the  police ! '  — it  came  in  a  choked  gasp  from  the 
other,  as  he  blinked  in  the  sudden  light.  "  Say  then " 

"Shut  up!"  ordered  Jimmie  Dale  curtly.  "And  mind 
what  T  told  you  about  moving !  "  He  leaned  over  the  bed. 
Old  Luddy,  though  under  the  influence  of  the  chloroform 
was  moving  restlessly.  Thorns  had  evidently  only  begun  to 
apply  the  chloroform — old  Luddy  was  safe!  Jimmie  Dale 
ran  his  hand  in  under  the  pillow.  "  If  you  ain't  swiped 
them  already  they  ought  to  be  here !  "  he  growled ;  "  and  if 
you  have  I'll — ah !  "  A  little  chamois  bag  was  in  his  hand. 
He  laughed  sneeringly  at  Thorns,  opened  the  bag,  allowed  a 
few  stones  to  trickle  into  his  hand — and  then,  without 
stopping  to  replace  them,  dashed  stones  and  bag  into  his 
pocket.  The  door  along  the  corridor  crashed  open. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  gasped  out,  in  well-simulated  fright — 
and  sprang  for  the  ladder  that  led  up  to  the  roof. 

It  had  all  taken,  perhaps,  the  minute  that  he  had  counted 
on — no  more.  Noises  came  from  the  floors  below  now,  a 
confusion  of  them — the  shot,  the  scream  had  been  heard  by 
others,  save  those  who  had  been  in  the  locked  room.  And 
the  latter  were  outside  now  in  the  corridor,  running  to  their 
accomplice's  aid. 

There  was  a  pause  at  the  outer  door — then  an  oath — and 
coupled  with  the  oath  an  exclamation: 

"  The  Gray  Seal !  " 

They  had  swept  a  flashlight  over  the  door  panel — Jimmie 
Dale,  halfway  up  the  ladder,  smiled  grimly. 

The  door  opened — there  was  a  rush  of  feet.  The  matt 
«lith  the  shattered  wrist  yelled,  cursing  wildly : 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN    139 

"  Here  he  is — on  the  ladder !  Let  him  have  it !  Fill  him 
full  of  holes !  " 

Jimmie  Dale  was  in  the  light — they  were  in  the  dark  oi 
the  outer  room.  He  fired  at  the  threshold,  checking  then 
rush — as  a  hail  of  bullets  chipped  and  tore  at  the  ladder 
and  spat  wickedly  against  the  wall.  He  swung  through  to 
the  roof,  trying,  as  he  did  so,  to  kick  the  ladder  loose  behind 
him.  It  was  fastened ! 

The  three  gunmen  jumped  into  the  room — from  the  roof 
Jimmie  Dale  got  a  glimpse  of  them  below,  as  he  flung  him 
self  clear  of  the  opening.  Bullets  whistled  through  the 
aperture — a  voice  roared  up  as  he  gained  his  feet : 

"  Come  on !  After  him !  The  whole  place  is  alive,  but 
this  lets  us  out.  We  can  frame  up  how  we  came  to  be  here 
easy  enough.  Never  mind  the  old  geezer  there  any  more! 
Get  the  Gray  Seal — the  reward  that's  out  for  him  is  worth 
twice  the  sparklers,  and " 

Jimmie  Dale  hurled  the  cover  over  the  scuttle.  He  could 
have  stood  them  off  from  above  and  kept  the  ladder  clear 
with  his  revolver,  but  the  alarm  seemed  general  now — • 
windows  were  opening,  voices  were  calling  to  one  another — - 
from  the  windows  across  the  street  he  must  stand  out  in 
sharp  outline  against  the  sky.  Yes — he  was  seen  now. 

A  woman's  voice,  from  a  top-story  window  across  the 
street,  screamed  out,  high-pitched  in  excitement: 

"  There  he  is !    There  he  is !    On  the  roof  there !  " 

Jimmie  Dale  started  on  the  run  along  the  roof.  The 
houses,  built  wall  to  wall,  fiat-roofed,  seemed  to  offer  an 
open  course  ahead  of  him — until  a  lane  or  an  intersecting 
street  should  bar  his  way !  But  they  were  not  quite  all  on 
the  same  level,  though — the  wall  of  the  next  house  rose  sud 
denly  breast  high  in  front  of  him.  He  flung  himself  up,  re 
gained  his  feet — and  ducked  instantly  behind  a  chim 
ney. 

The  crack  of  a  revolver  echoed  through  the  night — a  bullet 
drummed  through  the  air — the  Skeeter  and  his  gang  were  on 
the  roof  now,  dashing  forward,  firing  as  they  ran.  Twc 
shots  from  Jimmie  Dale's  automatic,  in  quick  succession. 


*UO    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

cooled  the  ardour  of  their  rush — and  they  broke,  blade 
flitting  forms,  for  the  shelter  of  chimneys,  too. 

And  now  the  whole  neighbourhood  seemed  awakened.  A 
dull-toned  roar,  as  from  some  great  gulf  below,  rolled  up 
from  the  street,  a  medley  of  slamming  windows,  the  rush 
cf  feet  as  people  poured  from  the  houses,  cries,  shouts,  and 
yells — and  high  over  all  the  shrill  call  of  the  police-patrol 
whistle — and  the  crack,  crack,  crack  of  the  Skeeter's  revolver 
shots — the  Skeeter  and  his  hellhounds  for  once  self-appointed 
allies  of  the  law! 

Twice  again  Jimmie  Dale  fired — then  crouching,  running 
low,  he  zigzagged  his  way  across  the  next  roof.  The  bullets 
followed  him — once  more  his  pursuers  dashed  forward. 
And  again  Jimmie  Dale,  his  face  set  like  stone  now,  his 
breath  coming  in  hard  gasps,  dodged  behind  a  chimney,  and 
with  his  gun  checked  their  rush  for  the  third  time. 

He  glanced  about  him — and  with  a  growing  sense  of 
disaster  saw  that  two  houses  farther  on  the  stretcu  of  roof 
appeared  to  end.  There  would  be  a  lane  or  a  street  there ! 
And  in  another  minute  or  two,  if  it  were  not  already  the 
case,  others  would  be  following  the  gunmen  to  the  ro  f, 
and  then  he  would  be — he  caught  his  breath  suddenly  in  a 
queer  little  strangled  cry  of  relief.  Just  back  of  him,  a  few 
yards  away,  his  eyes  made  out  what,  in  the  darkness,  seemed 
to  be  a  glass  skylight. 

A  dark  form  sped  like  a  deeper  shadow  across  the  black 
in  front  of  him,  making  for  a  chimney  nearer  by,  closing  in 
the  range.  Jimmie  Dale  fired — wide.  Tight  as  was  the 
corner  he  was  in,  little  as  was  the  mercy  deserved  at  hi? 
hands,  he  could  not,  after  all,  bring  himself  to  shoot — to 
kill. 

A  voice,  the  Skeeter's,  bawled  out  raucously : 

"  Rush  him  all  together — from  different  sides  at 
once!" 

A  backward  leap !  Jimmie  Dale's  boot  was  crashing  glass 
and  frame,  stamping  at  it  desperately,  making  a  hole  for  his 
body  through  the  skylight.  A  yell,  a  chorus  of  them,  an 
swered  this — then  the  crunch  of  racing  feet  on  the  graved 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  THE  PUSHCART  MAN     141 

it«K)f.  He  emptied  his  revolver,  sweeping  the  darkness  with 
ft  semicircle  of  vicious  flashes. 

It  seemed  an  hour — it  was  barely  the  fraction  of  a  second, 
as  he  hung  by  his  hands  from  the  side  of  the  skylight  frame, 
his  body  swinging  back  and  forth  in  the  unknown  blackness 
below.  The  skylight  might  be,  probably  was,  directly  over 
the  stair  well,  and  open  clear  to  the  basement  of  the  house- 
but  it  was  his  only  chance.  He  swung  his  body  well  out,  let 
go — and  dropped.  With  the  impetus  he  smashed  against 
a  wall,  was  flung  back  from  it  in  a  sort  of  rebound,  and  his 
hands  closed,  gripping  fiercely,  on  banisters.  It  had  b^en 
the  stair  well  beyond  any  question  of  doubt,  but  his  swing 
had  sent  him  clear  of  it. 

Above,  they  had  not  yet  reached  the  skylight.  Jimmic 
Dale  snatched  a  precious  moment  to  listen,  as  he  rose,  and 
found  himself,  apart  from  bruises,  perhaps  unhurt.  There 
was  commotion,  too,  in  this  h  use  below,  the  alarm  had  ex- 
ended  and  spread  along  the  block — but  the  commotion  was 
all  in  the  front  of  the  house — the  street  was  the  lure. 

Jimmie  Dale  started  down  the  stairs,  and  in  an  instant  he 
had  gained  the  landing.  In  another  he  had  slipped  to  the 
rear  of  the  hall — somewhere  there,  from  the  hall  itself,  from 
one  of  the  rear  rooms,  there  must  be  an  exit  to  the  fire 
escape.  To  attempt  to  leave  by  the  front  way  was  certain 
capture. 

They  were  yelling,  shouting  down  now  through  the  sky 
light  above,  as  Jimmie  Dale  softly  raised  the  window  sash 
at  the  rear  of  the  hall.  The  fire  escape  was  there.  Shouts 
from  along  the  corridor,  from  the  tenement  dwellers  who 
had  been  crowding  their  neighbours'  rooms,  craning  their 
necks  probably  from  the  front  windows,  answered  the  shouts 
now  from  the  roof  and  the  skylight;  doors  opened;  forms 
rushed  out — but  it  was  dark  in  the  corridor,  only  a  murky 
yellow  at  the  upper  end  from  the  opened  doors. 

Jimmie  Dale  slipped  through  the  window  to  the  fire  escape, 
and,  working  cautiously,  silently,  but  with  the  speed  of  a 
trained  athlete,  made  his  way  down.  At  the  bottom  he 
dropped  from  the  iron  platform  into  the  back  yard,  ran  for 


U2    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  fence  and  climbed  over  into  a  lane  on  the  othef 
side. 

And  then,  as  he  ran,  Jimmie  Dale  snatched  the  mask  from 
his  face  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  He  was  safe  now.  He 
swept  the  sweat  drops  from  his  forehead  with  the  back  of 
his  hand — noticing  them  for  the  first  time.  It  had  been 
close — almost  as  close  for  him  as  it  had  been  for  old  Luddy. 
And  to-morrow  the  papers  would  execrate  the  Gray  Seal! 
He  smiled  a  little  wanly.  His  breath  was  still  coming  hard. 
Presently  they  would  scour  the  lane — when  they  found  that 
their  quarry  was  not  in  the  house.  What  a  racket  they  were 
making !  The  whole  district  seemed  roused  like  a  swarm  of 
angry  bees. 

He  kept  on  along  the  lane — and  dodged  suddenly  into  a 
cross  street  where  the  two  intersected.  The  clang  of  a  bell 
dinned  discordantly  in  his  ears — a  patrol  wagon  swept  by 
him,  racing  for  the  scene  of  the  disturbance — the  riot  call 
was  out ! 

Again  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  wearily,  passing  his  hand 
across  his  eyes. 

"  I  guess,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  "  I'm  pretty  near  all  in. 
And  I  guess  it's  time  that  Larry  the  Bat  went — home." 

And  a  little  later  a  figure  turned  from  the  Bowery  and 
shambled  down  the  cross  street,  a  disreputable  figure,  W7ith 
hands  plunged  deep  in  his  pockets — and  a  shadow  across 
the  roadway  suddenly  shifted  its  position  as  the  shambling 
figure  slouched  into  the  black  alleyway  and  entered  the 
tenement's  side  door. 

And  Larry  the  Bat  smiled  softly  to  himself— Kline's  men 
were  still  on  guard  I 


CHAPTER  VI 

DEVIL'S  WORK 

A  WHITE-GLOVED  arm,  a  voice,  and  a  silvery  laugh;; 
Just  that — no  more!  Jimmie  Dale,  in  his  favourite 
seat,  an  aisle  seat  some  seven  or  eight  rows  back  from  the 
orchestra,  stared  at  the  stage,  to  all  outward  appearances 
absorbed  in  the  last  act  of  the  play ;  inwardly,  quite  oblivious 
to  the  fact  that  even  a  play  was  going  on. 

A  white-gloved  arm,  a  voice,  and  a  silvery  laugh!  The 
words  had  formed  themselves  into  a  sort  of  singsong  refrain 
that,  for  the  last  few  days,  had  been  running  through  his 
head.  A  strange  enough  guiding  star  to  mould  and  dictate 
every  action  in  his  life!  And  that  was  all  he  had  ever  seen 
of  her,  all  that  he  had  ever  heard  of  her — except  those  letters, 
of  course,  each  of  which  had  outlined  the  details  of  some 
affair  for  the  Gray  Seal  to  execute. 

Indeed,  it  seemed  a  great  length  of  time  now  since  he  had 
heard  from  her  even  in  that  way,  though  it  was  not  so  many 
days  ago,  after  all.  Perhaps  it  was  the  calm,  as  it  were,  that, 
by  contrast,  had  given  place  to  the  strenuous  months  and 
weeks  just  past.  The  storm  raised  by  the  newspapers  at 
the  theft  of  Old  Luddy's  diamonds  had  subsided  into  sporadic 
diatribes  aimed  at  the  police ;  Kline,  of  the  secret  service, 
had  finally  admitted  defeat,  and  a  shadow  no  longer  skulked 
day  and  night  at  the  entrance  to  the  Sanctuary — and  Larry 
the  Bat  bore  the  government  indorsement,  so  to  speak,  of 
being  no  more  suspicious  a  character  than  that  of  a  dis 
reputable,  but  harmless,  dope  fiend  of  the  underworld. 

Larry  the  Bat !  The  Gray  Seal !  Jimmie  Dale  the  mil 
lionaire!  What  if  it  were  ever  known  that  that  strange 

143 


144    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

three  were  one!  What  if Jimmie  Dale  smiled 

whimsically.  A  burst  of  applause  echoed  through  the  house, 
the  orchestra  was  playing,  the  lights  were  on,  seats  banged, 
there  was  the  bustle  of  the  rising  audience,  the  play  was  at 
an  end — and  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  have  remem 
bered  a  single  line  of  the  last  act ! 

The  aisle  at  his  elbow  was  already  crowded  with  people 
on  their  way  out.  Jimmie  Dale  stooped  down  mechanically 
to  reach  for  his  hat  beneath  his  seat — and  the  next  instant 
he  was  standing  up,  staring  wildly  into  the  faces  arounc* 
ilim. 

It  had  fallen  at  his  feet — a  white  envelope.  Hers !  It 
was  in  his  hand  now,  those  slim,  tapering,  wonderfully  sensi 
tive  fingers  of  Jimmie  Dale,  that  were  an  "  open  sesame  " 
to  locks  and  safes,  subconsciously  telegraphing  to  his  mind 
the  fact  that  the  texture  of  the  paper — was  hers.  Hers! 
And  she  must  be  one  of  those  around  him — one  of  those 
crowding  either  the  row  of  seats  in  front  or  behind,  or  one 
of  those  just  passing  in  the  aisle.  It  had  fallen  at  his  feet 
as  he  had  stooped  over  for  his  Vat — but  from  just  exactly 
what  direction  he  could  not  tell.  His  eyes,  eagerly,  hungrily, 
critically,  swept  face  after  face.  Which  one  was  hers? 
What  irony!  She,  whom  he  would  have  given  his  life  to 
know,  for  whom  indeed  he  risked  his  life  every  hour  of  the 
twenty-four,  was  close  to  him  now,  within  reach — and  as 
far  removed  as  t/iough  a  thousand  miles  separated  them. 
She  was  there — but  he  could  not  recognise  a  face  that  he 
had  never  seen ' 

With  an  effort,  he  choked  back  the  bitter,  impotent  laugh 
that  rose  to  his  lips.  They  were  talking,  laughing  around 
him.  Her  voice — yes,  he  had  once  heard  that,  and  that  he 
would  recognise  again.  He  strained  to  catch,  to  individualise 
the  tone  sounds  that  floated  in  a  medley  about  him.  It  was 
useless — of  course — every  effort  that  he  had  ever  made 
to  find  her  had  been  useless.  She  was  too  clover,  far  too 
clever  for  that — she,  too,  would  know  that  he  could  and 
would  recognise  her  voice  where  he  could  recognise  nothing 

•toe. 


DEVIL'S  WORK  145 

And  then,  suddenly,  he  realised  that  he  was  attracting  at 
tention.  Level  stares  from  the  women  returned  his  gaze, 
and  they  edged  away  a  little  from  his  vicinity  as  they  passed, 
their  escorts  crowding  somewhat  belligerently  into  their 
places.  Others,  in  the  same  row  of  seats  as  his  own,  were 
impatiently  waiting  to  get  by  him.  With  a  muttered  apology, 
Jimmie  Dale  raised  the  seat  of  his  chair,  allowing  these  latter 
to  pass  him — and  then,  slipping  the  letter  into  his  pocket- 
book,  he  snatched  up  his  hat  from  the  seat  rack. 

There  was  still  a  chance.  Knowing  he  was  there,  she 
would  be  on  her  guard ;  but  in  the  lobby,  among  the  crowd 
and  unaware  of  his  presence,  there  was  the  possibility  that, 
if  he  could  reach  the  entrance  ahead  of  her,  she,  too,  might 
be  talking  and  laughing  as  she  left  the  theatre.  Just  a  single 
word,  just  a  tone — that  was  all  he  asked. 

The  row  of  seats  at  whose  end  he  stood  was  empty  now, 
and,  instead  of  stepping  into  the  thronged  aisle,  he  made  his 
way  across  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  theatre.  Here,  the 
far  aisle  was  less  crowded,  and  in  a  minute  he  had  gained 
the  foyer,  confident  that  he  was  now  in  advance  of  her.  The 
next  moment  he  was  lost  in  a  jam  of  people  in  the  lobby. 

He  moved  slowly  now,  very  slowly — allowing  those  be 
hind  to  press  by  him  on  the  way  to  the  entrance.  A  babel 
of  voices  rose  about  him,  as,  tight-packed,  the  mass  of  people 
jostled,  elbowed,  and  pushed  good-naturedly.  It  was  a 
voice  now,  her  voice,  that  he  was  listening  for ;  but,  though 
it  seemed  that  every  faculty  was  strained  and  intent  upon 
that  one  effort,  his  eyes,  too,  had  in  no  degree  relaxed  their 
vigilance — and  once,  half  grimly,  half  sardonically,  he  smiled 
to  himself.  There  would  be  an  unexpected  aftermath  to  this 
exodus  of  expensively  gowned  and  bejewelled  women  with 
their  prosperous,  well-groomed  escorts !  Tha^  was  the 
Wowzer  over  there — sleek,  dapper,  squirming  in  and  out  of 
the  throng  with  the  agility  and  stealth  of  a  cat.  As  Larry  the 
Bat  he  had  met  the  Wowzer  many  times,  as  indeed  he  had 
met  and  was  acquainted  with  most  of  the  elite  of  the  under 
world.  The  Wowzer,  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt,  in  his  own 
profession  stood  upon  a  plane  entirely  by  himself — amonj? 


146    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

those  qualified  to  speak,  no  one  yet  had  ever  questioned  trie 
Wowzer's  claim  to  the  distinction  of  being  the  most  dexterous 
and  finished  "  poke  getter  "  in  the  United  States ! 

The  crowd  thinned  in  the  lobby,  thinned  down  to  the  last 
few  belated  stragglers,  who  passed  him  as  he  still  loitered 
in  the  entrance ;  and  then  Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders  that  was  a  great  deal  more  philosophical  than  the 
maddening  sense  of  chagrin  and  disappointment  that  burned 
within  him,  stepped  out  to  the  pavement  and  headed  down 
Broadway.  After  all,  he  had  known  it  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
all  the  time — it  had  always  been  the  same — it  was  only  one 
more  occasion  added  to  the  innumerable  ones  that  had  gorv<? 
before  in  which  she  had  eluded  him ! 

And  now — there  was  the  letter!  Automatically  he 
quickened  his  steps  a  little.  It  was  useless,  futile,  profitless, 
for  the  moment,  at  least,  to  disturb  himself  over  his  failure — • 
there  was  the  letter!  His  lips  parted  in  a  strange,  half- 
serious,  half-speculative  smile.  The  letter — that  was  para 
mount  now.  What  new  venture  did  the  night  hold  in  store 
for  him  ?  What  sudden  emergency  was  the  Gray  Seal  called 
upon  to  face  this  time — what  role,  unrehearsed,  without 
warning,  must  he  play?  What  story  of  grim,  desperate 
rascality  would  the  papers  credit  him  with  when  daylight 
came?  Or  would  they  carry  in  screaming  headlines  the 
announcement  that  the  Gray  Seal  was  caged  and  caught  at 
last,  and  in  three-inch  type  tell  the  world  that  the  Gray  Seal 
was — Jimmie  Dale ! 

A  block  down,  he  turned  from  Broadway  out  of  the 
theatre  crowds  that  streamed  in  both  directions  past  him. 
The  letter!  Almost  feverishly  now  he  was  seeking  an  op 
portunity  to  open  and  read  it  unobserved ;  an  eagerness 
upon  J-<:tT  that  mingled  exhilaration  at  the  lure  of  danger 
with  a  sense  of  premonition  that,  irritably,  inevitably  was 
with  him  at  moments  such  as  these.  It  seemed,  it  always 
seemed,  that,  with  an  unopened  letter  of  hers  in  his  posses 
sion,  it  was  as  though  he  were  about  to  open  a  page  in  the 
Book  of  Fate  and  read,  as  it  were,  a  pronouncement  upou 
himself  that  .might  mean  life  or  death. 


DEVIL'S  WORK 

He  hurried  on.  People  still  passed  by  him — too  many. 
And  then  a  cafe,  just  ahead,  making  a  corner,  gave  him 
the  opportunity  that  he  sought.  Away  from  the  entrance, 
on  the  side  street,  the  brilliant  lights  from  the  windows  shone 
out  on  a  comparatively  deserted  pavement.  There  was 
ample  light  to  read  by,  even  as  far  away  from  the  window 
as  the  curb,  and  Jimmie  Dale,  with  an  approving  nod,  turned 
the  corner  and  walked  along  a  few  steps  until  opposite  the 
farthest  window — but,  as  he  halted  here  at  the  edge  of  the 
street,  he  glanced  quickly  behind  him  at  a  man  whom  he  had 
just  passed.  The  other  had  paused  at  the  corner  and  was 
staring  down  the  street.  Jimmie  Dale  instantly  and  non 
chalantly  produced  his  cigarette  case,  selected  a  cigarette, 
and  fastidiously  tapped  its  end  on  his  thumb  nail. 

"  Inspector  Burton  in  plain  clothes,"  he  observed  musingly 
to  himself.  "  I  wonder  if  it's  just  a  fluke — or  something 
else?  We'll  see." 

Jimmie  Dale  took  a  box  of  matches  from  his  pocket.  The 
first  would  not  light.  The  second  broke,  and,  with  an  ex 
clamation  of  annoyance,  he  flung  it  away.  The  third  was 
making  a  fitful  effort  at  life,  as  another  man  emerged  hastily 
from  the  cafe's  side  door,  hurried  to  the  corner,  joined  the 
man  who  was  still  loitering  there,  and  both  together  dis 
appeared  at  a  rapid  pace  down  the  street. 

Jimmie  Dale  whistled  softly  to  himself.  The  second  man 
was  even  better  known  than  the  first ;  there  was  not  a  crook 
in  New  York  but  would  side-step  Lannigan  of  headquarters, 
and  do  it  with  amazing  celerity — if  he  could ! 

"  Something  up !  But  it's  not  my  hunt !  "  muttered  Jim 
mie  Dale ;  then,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders :  "  Queer  the 
way  those  headquarters  chaps  fascinate  and  give  me  a  thrill 
every  time  I  see  them,  even  if  I  haven'*  a  ghost  of  a  reason 
for  imagining  that " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  Jimmie  Dale's  face  was 
gray.  The  street  seemed  to  rock  about  him — and  he  stared, 
like  a  man  stricken,  white  to  the  lips,  ahead  of  him.  The 
letter  ivas  gone!  His  hand,  wriggling  from  his  empty 
pocket,  swept  away  the  sweat  beads  that  were  bursting  f rora 


148    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

his  forehead.    It  had  come  at  last — the  pitcher  had  gone  on» 
too  often  to  the  well ! 

Numbed  for  an  instant,  his  brain  cleared  now,  working 
with  lightning  speed,  leaping  from  premise  to  conclusion. 
The  crush  in  the  theatre  lobby — the  pushing,  the  jostling, 
the  close  contact — the  Wowzer,  the  slickest,  cleverest  pick 
pocket  in  the  United  States !  For  a  moment  he  could  have 
laughed  aloud  in  a  sort  of  ghastly,  defiant  mockery — he  him 
self  had  predicted  an  unexpected  aftermath,  had  he  not! 

Aftermath!  It  was — the  end!  An  hour,  two  hours,  and 
New  York  would  be  metamorphosed  into  a  seething  caldron 
of  humanity  bubbHng  with  the  news.  It  seemed  that  he 
could  hear  the  screams  of  the  newsboys  now  shouting  theit 
extras ;  it  seemed  that  he  could  see  the  people,  roused  to 
frenzy,  swarming  in  excited  crowds,  snatching  at  the  papers  ; 
he  seemed  to  hear  the  mob's  shouts  swell  in  execration,  in 
exultation — it  seemed  as  though  all  around  him  had  gone 
mad.  The  mystery  of  the  Gray  Seal  was  solved!  It  was 
Jimmie  Dale,  Jimmie  Dale,  Jimmie,  Dale,  the  millionaire, 
the  lion  of  society — and  there  was  ignominy  for  an  honoured 
name,  and  shame  and  disaster  and  convict  stripes  and  sullen 
penitentiary  walls — or  death  !  A  felon's  death — the  chair ! 

He  was  running  now,  his  hands  clenched  at  his  sides ;  his 
mind,  working  subconsciously,  urging  him  onward  in  a  blind, 
as  yet  unrealised,  objectless  way.  And  then  gradually  im 
pulse  gave  way  to  calmer  reason,  and  he  slowed  his  pace  to 
a  quick,  less  noticeable  walk.  The  Wowzer !  That  was  it  I 
There  was  yet  a  chance — the  Wowzer!  A  merciless  rage, 
cold,  deadly,  settled  upon  him.  It  was  the  Wowzer  who 
had  stolen  his  pocketbook,  and  with  it  the  letter.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  of  that.  Well,  there  would  be  a  reckoning 
ut  least  before  the  end! 

He  was  in  a  downtown  subway  train  now — the  roar  in 
his  ears  in  consonance,  it  seemed,  with  the  tut  moil  in  his 
brain.  But  now,  too,  he  was  Jimmie  Dale  again ;  and,  apart 
from  the  slightly  outthrust  jaw,  the  tight-closed  lips,  IIP- 
passive,  debonair,  composed. 

There  was  yet  a  chance.     As  Larry  the  Bat  he  knew 


DEVIL'S  WORK  149 

every  den  and  lair  below  the  dead  line,  and  he  knew,  too,  the 
Wowzer'j  favourite  haunts.  There  was  yet  a  chance,  only 
one  IK  a  thousand,  it  was  true,  almost  too  pitiful  to  be  de 
pended  upon — but  yet  a  chance.  The  Wowzer  had  probably 
not  worked  ;.lone,  and  he  and  his  pa1  or  pals,  would  cer 
tainly  not  remain  uptown  either  to  examine  or  divide  their 
spoils — they  would  wait  until  they  were  safe  somewhere  in 
one  of  their  hell  holes  on  the  East  Side.  If  he  could  find  th*» 
Wowzer,  reach  the  man  before  the  letter  was  opened-* 
Jimmie  Dale's  lips  grew  tighter.  That  was  the  chance !  If 
he  failed  in  that — Jimmie  Dale's  lips  drooped  downward  in 
grim  curves  at  the  corners.  A  chance !  Already  the  Wowzer 
had  at  least  a  half  hour's  lead,  and,  worse  still,  there  was  no 
telling  which  one  of  a  dozen  places  the  man  might  have 
chosen  to  retreat  to  with  his  loot. 

Time  passed.  His  mind  obsessed,  Jimmie  Dale's  physical 
lets  were  almost  wholly  mechanical.  It  was  perhaps  fifteen 
minutes  since  he  had  discovered  the  loss  of  the  letter,  and 
he  was  walking  now  through  the  heart  of  the  Bowery.  Ex 
actly  how  he  had  got  there  he  could  not  have  told ;  he  had 
only  a  vague  realisation  that,  following  an  intuitive  sense  of 
direction,  he  had  lost  not  a  second  of  time  in  making  his 
way  downtown. 

And  now  he  found  himself  hesitating  at  the  corner  of  a 
cross  street.  Two  blocks  east  was  that  dark,  narrow  alley* 
way,  that  side  door  that  made  the  entrance  to  the  Sanctuary. 
It  would  be  safer,  a  hundred  times  safer,  to  go  there,  change 
his  clothes  and  his  personality,  and  emerge  again  as  Larry 
the  Bat — infinitely  safer  in  that  role  to  explore  the  dens  of 
the  underworld,  many  of  them  indeed  unknown  and  un 
dreamed  of  by  the  police  themselves,  than  to  trust  himself 
there  in  well-cut,  fashionable  tweeds — but  that  would  take 
time.  Time!  When,  with  every  second,  the  one  chance  he 
had,  desperate  as  that  already  was,  was  slipping  away  from 
him.  No ;  what  was  apparently  the  greater  risk  at  least  held 
out  the  only  hope. 

He  went  on  again — his  brain  incessantly  at  work.  At  the 
worst  there  was  one  mitigating  factor  in  it  all.  He  had  no 


150    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

need  to  think  of  her.  Whatever  the  ruin  and  disaster  that 
faced  him  in  the  next  few  hours,  she  in  any  case  was  safe. 
There  was  no  clew  to  her  identity  in  the  letter ;  and  where 
he,  for  months  on  end,  with  even  more  to  work  upon,  had 
failed  at  every  turn  to  trace  her,  there  was  little  fear  that 
any  one  else  would  have  any  better  success.  She  was  safe. 
As  for  himself — that  was  different.  The  Gray  Seal  would  be 
referred  to  in  the  letter,  there  would  be  the  outline,  the 
data  for  the  "  crime  "  she  had  planned  for  that  night ;  and 
the  letter,  though  unaddressed,  being  found  in  his  pocket- 
book,  where  cards  and  notes  and  a  dozen  different  things 
among  its  contents  proclaimed  him  Jimmie  Dale,  needed 
no  further  evidence  as  to  its  ownership  nor  the  identity  of 
the  Gray  Seal. 

Jimmie  Dale's  fingers  crept  inside  his  vest  and  fumbled 
there  for  a  moment — and  a  diamond  stud,  extracted  from 
his  shirt  front,  glistened  sportively  in  the  necktie  that  was 
now  tucked  jauntily  in  at  one  side  of  his  shirt  bosom.  He 
had  reached  the  Blue  Dragon,  one  of  Wowzer's  usual  hang 
outs,  and,  swerving  from  the  sidewalk,  entered  the  place. 
There  was  wild  tumult  within — a  constant  storm  of  ap 
plause,  derision,  and  hilarity  that  was  hurled  from  the  tables 
around  the  room  at  the  turkey-trotting,  tango-writhing 
couples  on  the  somewhat  restricted  space  of  polished  hard~ 
wood  flooring  in  the  centre.  Jimmie  Dale  swaggered  down 
the  room,  a  cigar  tilted  up  at  an  angle  between  his  teeth,  his 
soft  felt  hat  a  little  rakishly  on  one  side  of  his  head  and 
well  over  his  nose. 

At  the  end  of  the  room,  at  the  bar,  Jimmie  Dale  leaned 
toward  the  barkeeper  and  talked  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
mouth.  There  were  private  rooms  upstairs,  and  he  jerked 
his  head  surreptitiously  ceilingward. 

"  Say,  is  de  Wowzer  up  dere  ?  "  he  inquired  in  a  cautious 
whisper. 

The  man  behind  the  bar,  well  known  to  Jimmie  Dale  as 
one  of  the  Wowzer's  particular  pals,  favoured  him  with  a 
blank  stare. 


DEVIL'S  WORK 

"  Never  heard  of  de  guy ! "  he  announced  brusquely. 
"  Wot's  yours  ?  " 

"  Gimme  a  mug  of  suds,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  reaching  for 
a  match.  He  puffed  at  his  cigar,  blew  out  the  match,  and, 
after  a  moment,  flung  the  charred  end  away — but  on  his 
hand,  as,  palm  outward,  he  raised  it  to  take  his  glass,  the 
match  had  traced  a  small  black  cross. 

The  barkeeper  put  down  the  beer  he  had  just  drawn,  wiped 
his  hand  hurriedly,  and  with  sudden  enthusiasm  thrust  it 
across  the  bar. 

"  Glad  to  know  youse,  cull !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Wot's  de 
lay?" 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled. 

"  Nix !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  I  just  blew  in  from  Chicago. 
Used  to  know  de  Wowzer  dere.  He  said  dis  place  was  on 
de  level,  an'  I  could  always  find  him  here,  dat's  all." 

"  Sure,  youse  can ! "  returned  the  barkeeper  heartily. 
"  Only  he  ain't  here  now.  He  beat  it  about  fifteen  minutes 
ago,  him  an'  Dago  Jim,  I  guess  youse'll  find  him  at  Chang's, 
I  heard  him  an'  Dago  say  dey  was  goin*  dere.  Know  de 
place  ?  " 

Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head. 

"  I  ain't  much  wise  to  New  York,"  he  explained. 

"  Aw,  dat's  easy,"  whispered  the  barkeeper.  "  Go  down 
to  Chatham  Square,  an'  den  any  guy'll  show  youse  Chang 
Foo's."  He  winked  confidentially.  "  I  guess  youse  won't 
bump  yer  head  none  gettin'  around  inside." 

Jimmie  Dale  nodded,  grinned  back,  emptied  his  glass, 
and  dug  for  a  coin. 

"  Forget  it !  "  observed  the  barkeeper  cordially.  "  Dis  is 
on  me.  Any  friend  of  de  Wowzer's  gets  de  glad  hand  here 
any  time." 

"  T'anks ! "  said  Jimmie  Dale  gratefully,  as  he  turned 
away.  "  So  long,  then — see  youse  later." 

Chang  Foo's !  Jimmie  Dale's  face  set  even  a  little  harder 
than  it  had  before,  as  he  swung  on  again  down  the  Bowery. 
Yes ;  he  knew  Chang  Foo's — too  well.  Underground  China 
town — where  a  man's  life  was  worth  the  price  of  an  opium 


152    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

pill — or  less !  Mechanically  his  hand  slipped  into  his  pocket 
and  closed  over  the  automatic  that  nestled  there.  Once  in — 
where  he  had  to  go — and  the  chances  were  even,  just  even, 
that  was  all,  that  he  would  ever  get  out.  Again  he  was 
tempted  to  return  to  the  Sanctuary  and  make  the  attempt  as 
Larry  the  Bat.  Larry  the  Bat  was  well  enough  known  to 
enter  Chang  Foo's  unquestioned,  and — but  again  he  shook 
his  head  and  went  on.  There  was  not  time.  Tne  Wowzer 
and  his  pal — it  was  Dago  Jim  it  seemed — had  evidently  been 
drinking  and  loitering  their  way  downtown  from  the  theatre, 
and  he  had  gained  that  much  on  them ;  but  by  now  they 
would  be  smugly  tucked  away  somewhere  in  that  maze  of 
dens  below  the  ground,  and  at  that  moment  probably  were 
gloating  over  the  biggest  night's  haul  they  had  ever  made  in 
their  lives ! 

And  if  they  were !  What  then?  Once  they  knew  the  con 
tents  of  that  letter — what  then?  Buy  them  off  for  a  larger 
amount  than  the  many  thousands  offered  for  the  capture  of 
the  Gray  Seal  ?  Jimmie  Dale  gritted  his  teeth.  That  meant 
blackmail  from  them  all  his  life,  an  intolerable  existence, 
impossible,  a  hell  on  earth — the  slave,  at  the  beck  and  call 
of  two  of  the  worst  criminals  in  New  York !  The  moisture 
oozed  again  to  Jimmie  Dale's  forehead.  God,  if  he  could 
get  that  letter  before  it  was  opened — before  they  knew!  If 
he  could  only  get  the  chance  to  fight  for  it — against  any 
odds!  Life!  Life  was  a  pitiful  consideration  against  the 
alternative  that  faced  him  now ! 

From  the  Blue  Dragon  to  Chang  Foo's  was  not  far ;  and 
Jimmie  Dale  covered  the  distance  in  well  under  five  minutes. 
Chang  Foo's  was  just  a  tea  merchant's  shop,  innocuous  and 
innocent  enough  in  its  appearance,  blandly  so  indeed,  and 
that  was  all — outwardly ;  but  Jimmie  Dale,  as  he  reached 
his  destination,  experienced  the  first  sensation  of  uplift  he 
had  known  that  night,  and  this  from  what,  apparently,  did 
not  in  the  least  seem  like  a  contributing  cause. 

"  Luck !  The  blessed  luck  of  it !  "  he  muttered  grimly, 
as  he  surveyed  the  sight-seeing  car  drawn  up  at  the  curb, 
and  watched  the  passengers  crowding  out  of  it  to  the  ground 


DEVIL'S  WORK  153 

*'  It  wouldn't  have  been  as  easy  to  fool  old  Chang  as  it  was 
that  fellow  back  at  the  Dragon — and,  besides,  if  I  can  work 
it,  there's  a  better  chance  this  way  of  getting  out  alive." 

The  guide  was  marshalling  his  "  gapers  " — some  two  dozen 
in  all,  men  and  women.  Jimmie  Dale  unostentatiously  fell 
in  at  the  rear ;  and,  the  guide  leading,  the  little  crowd  passed 
into  the  tea  merchant's  shop.  Chang  Foo,  a  wizened,  wrin 
kled-faced  little  Celestial,  oily,  suave,  greeted  them  with 
profuse  bows,  chattering  the  while  volubly  in  Chinese. 

The  guide  made  the  introduction  with  an  all-embracing 
sweep  of  his  hand. 

"  Chang  Foo — ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  announced ;  then 
held  up  his  hand  for  silence.  "  Ladies  -ar/d  gentlemen,"  he 
said  impressively,  "  this  is  one  of  the  most  notorious,  if  not 
the  most  notorious  dive  in  Chinatown,  and  it  is  only  through 
special  arrangement  with  the  authorities  and  at  great  ex 
pense  that  the  company  is  able  exclusively  to  gain  an  entree 
here  for  its  patrons.  You  will  see  here  the  real  life  of  the 
Chinese,  and  in  half  an  hour  you  will  get  what  few  would 
get  in  a  lifetime  spent  in  China  itself.  You  will  see  the 
Chinese  children  dance  and  perform;  the  Chinese  women 
at  their  household  tasks ;  the  joss,  the  shrine  of  his  hallowed 
ancestors,  at  which  Chang  Foo  here  worships ;  and  you  will 
enter  the  most  famous  opium  den  in  the  United  States. 
Now,  if  you  will  all  keep  close  together,  we  will  make  a 
start." 

In  spite  of  his  desperate  situation,  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  a 
little  whimsically.  Yes;  they  would  see  it  all — upstairs! 
The  same  old  bunk  dished  out  night  after  night  at  so  much 
a  head — and  the  nervous  little  schoolma'am  of  uncertain 
age,  who  fidgeted  now  beside  him,  would  go  back  somewhere 
down  in  Maine  and  shiver  while  she  related  her  "  wider  ex 
periences  "  in  tremulous  whispers  into  the  shocked  ears  of 
envious  other  maiden  ladies  of  equally  uncertain  age.  The 
same  old  bunk — and  a  profitable  one  for  Chang  Foo  for 
more  reasons  than  one.  It  was  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  police. 
The  police  smiled  kaowingly  at  mention  of  Chang  Foo. 


154    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Who  should  know,  if  they  didn't,  that  it  was  all  harmless 
fake,  all  bunk !    And  so  it  was — upstairs! 

They  were  passing  out  of  the  shop  now,  bowed  out  through 
a  side  door  by  the  obsequious  and  oily  Chang  Foo.  And 
now  they  massed  again  in  a  sort  of  little  hallway — and  Chang 
Foo,  closing  the  door  upon  Jimmie  Dale,  who  was  the  last 
in  the  line,  shuffled  back  behind  the  counter  in  his  shop  to 
resume  his  guard  duty  over  customers  of  quite  another  ilk. 
With  the  door  closed,  it  was  dark,  pitch  dark.  And  this, 
too,  like  everything  else  connected  with  Chang  Foo's  estab 
lishment,  for  more  reasons  than  one — for  effect — and  foi- 
security.  Nervous  little  twitters  began  to  emanate  from  tha 
women — the  guide's  voice  rose  reassuringly : 

"  Keep  close  together,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  We  are  go< 
ing  upstairs  now  to " 

Jimmie  Dale  hugged  back  against  the  wall,  sidled  along  it,, 
and  like  a  shadow  slipped  down  to  the  end  of  the  hall.  Tnt, 
scuffling  of  two  dozen  pairs  of  feet  mounting  the  creaky 
staircase  drowned  the  slight  sound  as  he  cautiously  opened 
a  door ;  the  darkness  lay  black,  impenetrable,  along  the  hall. 
And  then,  as  cautiously  as  he  had  opened  it,  he  closed  th* 
door  behind  him,  and  stood  for  an  instant  listening  at  the 
head  of  a  ladder-like  stairway,  his  automatic  in  his  hand 
now.  It  was  familiar  ground  to  Larry  the  Bat.  The  steps  led 
down  to  a  cellar ;  and  diagonally  across  from  the  foot  of  the 
steps  was  an  opening,  ingeniously  hidden  by  a  heterogeneous 
collection  of  odds  and  ends,  boxes,  cases,  and  rubbish  from 
the  pseudo  tea  shop  above  ;  a  low  opening  in  the  wall  to  a  pas 
sage  that  led  on  through  the  cellars  of  perhaps  half  a  dozen 
adjoining  houses,  each  of  which  latter  was  leased,  in  one 
name  or  another — by  Chang  Foo. 

Jimmie  Dale  crept  down  the  steps,  and  in  another  moment 
had  gained  the  farther  side  of  the  cellar ;  then,  skirting 
around  the  ruck  of  cases,  he  stooped  suddenly  and  passed 
in  through  the  opening  in  the  wall.  And  now  he  halted  once 
more.  He  was  straining  his  eyes  down  a  long,  narrow  pas 
sage,  whose  blackness  was  accentuated  rather  than  relieved 
by  curious  wavering,  gossamer  threads  of  yellow  light  that 


DEVIL'S  WORK  155 

showed  here  and  there  from  under  makeshift  thresholds, 
from  doors  slightly  ajar.  Faint  noises  came  to  him,  a 
muffled,  intermittent  clink  of  coin,  a  low,  continuous,  droning 
hum  of  voices ;  the  sickly  sweet  smell  of  opium  pricked  at  his 
nostrils. 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  set  rigidly.  It  was  the  resort,  not  only 
of  the  most  depraved  Chinese  element,  but  of  the  worst 
"  white  "  thugs  that  made  New  York  their  headquarters — 
here,  in  the  succession  of  cellars,  roughly  partitioned  off  to 
make  a  dozen  rooms  on  either  side  of  the  passage,  dope 
fiends  sucked  at  the  drug,  and  Chinese  gamblers  spent  the 
greater  part  of  their  lives ;  here,  murder  was  hatched  and 
played  too  often  to  its  hellish  end ;  here,  the  scum  of  the  un 
derworld  sought  refuge  from  the  police  to  the  profit  of 
Chang  Foo;  and  here,  somewhere,  in  one  of  these  rooms, 
was — the  Wowzer. 

The  Wowzer !  Jimmie  Dale  stole  forward  silently,  with 
out  a  sound,  swiftly — pausing  only  to  listen  for  a  second's 
space  at  the  doors  as  he  passed.  From  this  one  came  that 
clink  of  coin ;  from  another  that  jabber  of  Chinese ;  from 
still  another  that  overpowering  stench  of  opium — and  once, 
iron-nerved  as  he  was,  a  cold  thrill  passed  over  him.  Let 
this  lair  of  hell's  wolves,  so  intent  now  on  their  own  affairs, 
be  once  roused,  as  they  certainly  must  be  roused  before 
he  could  hope  to  finish  the  Wowzer,  and  his  chances  of  es 
cape  were 

He  straightened  suddenly,  alert,  tense,  strained.  Voices, 
raised  in  a  furious  quarrel,  came  from  a  door  just  beyond 
him  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage,  where  a  film  of  light 
streamed  out  through  a  cracked  panel — it  was  the  Wowzer 
and  Dago  Jim!  And  drunk,  both  of  them — and  both  in  a 
blind  fury ! 

It  happened  quick  then,  almost  instantaneously  it  seemed  to 
Jimmie  Dale.  He  was  crouched  now  close  against  the  door, 
his  eye  to  the  crack  in  the  panel.  There  was  only  one  figure 
in  sight — Dago  Jim — standing  beside  a  table  on  which 
bunied  a  lamp,  the  table  top  littered  with  watches,  purses, 
and  small  chatelaine  bags.  The  man  was  lurching  un- 


steadily  on  his  feet,  a  vicious  sneer  of  triumph  on  his 
waving  tauntingly  an  open  letter  and  Jimmie  Dale's  pocket- 
book  in  his  hands — waving  them  presumably  in  the  face  of 
the  Wowzer,  whom,  from  the  restrictions  of  the  crack,  Jim 
mie  Dale  could  not  see.  He  was  conscious  of  a  sickening 
sense  of  disaster.  His  hope  against  hope  had  been  in  vain — • 
the  letter  had  been  opened  and  re?d~-the  identity  of  tht 
Gray  Seal  was  solved. 

Dago  Jim's  voice  roared  out,  haarse,  blasphemous,  m 
drunken  rage: 

"  De  Gray  Seal — see!  Youse  betcher  life  I  knows!  I 
been  waitin'  f er  somet?ing  like  dis,  damn  youse !  Youse 
been  stallin'  on  me  fer  a  year  every  time  it  came  to  a  divvy. 
Youse' ve  got  a  pocketful  now  youse  snitched  to-night  dat 
youse  are  tryin'  to  do  me  out  of.  Well,  keep  'em  " — he 
shoved  his  face  forward.  M  I  keeps  dis — see !  Keep  'em 
Wowzer,  youse  cross-eyed " 

"  Everyt'ing  I  pinched  to-night's  on  de  table  dere  wid  wot 
youse  pinched  yerself,"  cut  in  the  Wowzer,  in  a  sullen, 
threatening  growL 

"Youse  lie,  an*  youse  knows  it!"  retorted  Dago  Jim. 
"  Youse  have  given  me  de  short  end  every  time  we've  pulled 
a  deal!" 

"  Dat  letter's  mine,  youse n  bawled  the  Wowzer  furi 
ously. 

"  Why  didn't  youse  open  it  an'  read  it,  den,  instead  of 
lettin'  me  do  it  to  keep  me  busy  while  youse  short-changed 
me  ?  "  sneered  Dago  Jim.  "  Youse  t'ought  it  was  some  sweet 
billy-doo,  eh  ?  Well,  t'anks,  Wowzer — dat's  wot  it  is !  Say," 
r.e  mocked,  "  dere's  a  guy'll  cash  a  t'ousand  century  notes 
fer  dis,  an'  if  he  don't — say,  dere's  some  reward  out  fer  the 
Gray  Seal !  Wouldn't  youse  like  to  know  who  it  is  ?  Well, 
vmen  I'm  ridin'  in  me  private  buzz  wagon,  Wowzer,  youse 
stick  around  an'  mabbe  I'll  tell  youse — an'  mabbe  I  won't !  M 

"  By  God " — the  Wowzer's  voice  rose  in  a  scream— 
'*  /ouse  hand  over  dat  letter  1 " 

"  Youse  go  to " 

Red,  lurid  red,  a  stream  of  flame  seemed  to  cut  acros? 


DEVIL'S  WORK  Iff? 

Jimmie  Dale's  line  of  vision,  came  the  roar  of  a  revolver 
shot — and  like  a  madman  Jimmie  Dale  flung  his  body  at  the 
door.  Rickety  at  best,  it  crashed  inward,  half  wrenched 
from  its  hinges,  precipitating  him  inside.  He  recovered 
himself  and  leaped  forward.  The  room  was  swirling  with 
blue  eddies  of  smoke ;  Dago  Jim,  hands  flung  up,  still  grasp 
ing  letter  and  pocketbook,  pawed  at  the  air — and  plunged 
with  a  sagging  lurch  face  downward  to  the  floor.  There 
was  a  yeli  and  an  oath  from  the  Wowzer — the  crack  of  an 
other  revolver  shot,  the  hum  of  the  bullet  past  Jimmie  Dale's 
ear,  the  scorch  of  the  tongue  flame  in  his  face,  and  he  was 
upon  the  other. 

Screeching  profanity,  the  Wowzer  grappled ;  and,  for  an 
instant,  the  two  men  rocked,  reeled,  and  swayed  in  each 
other's  embrace;  then,  both  men  losing  their  balance,  they 
shot  suddenly  backward,  the  Wowzer,  undermost,  striking 
his  head  against  the  table's  edge — and  men,  table,  and  lamp 
crashed  downward  in  a  heap  to  the  floor. 

It  had  been  no  more,  at  most,  than  a  matter  of  seconds 
since  Jimmie  Dale  had  hurled  himself  into  the  room ;  and 
now,  with  a  gurgling  sigh,  the  Wowzer's  arms,  that  had  been 
wound  around  Jimmie  Dale's  back  and  shoulders,  relaxed, 
and,  trom  the  blow  on  his  head  the  man,  lay  back  inert  and 
stunned.  And  then  it  seemed  to  Jimmie  Dale  as  though 
pandemonium,  unreality,  and  chaos  at  the  touch  of  some 
devil's  hand  reigned  around  him.  It  was  dark — no,  not 
dark — a  spurt  of  flame  was  leaping  along  the  line  of  trick 
ling  oil  from  the  broken  lamp  on  the  floor.  It  threw  into 
ghastly  relief  the  sprawled  form  of  Dago  Jim.  Outside, 
from  along  the  passageway,  came  a  confused  jangle  of  com 
motion — whispering  voices,  shuffling  feet,  the  swish  of 
Chinese  garments.  And  the  room  itself  began  to  spring  into 
weird,  flickering  shadows,  that  mounted  and  crept  up  the 
walls  with  the  spreading  fire. 

There  was  not  a  second  to  lose  before  the  room  would  be 
swarming  with  that  rush  from  the  passageway — and  there 
was  still  the  letter,  the  pocketbook!  The  table  had  fallea 
half  over  Dago  Jim — Jimnv'e  Dale  pushed  it  aside,  tore  tfcs 


158    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

crushed  letter  and  the  pocketbook  from  the  man's  hands — 
and  felt,  with  a  grim,  horrible  sort  of  anxiety,  for  the  other's 
heartbeat,  for  the  verdict  that  meant  life  or  death  to  himself. 
There  was  no  sign  of  life — the  man  was  dead. 

Jimmie  Dale  was  on  his  feet  now.  A  face,  another,  and  an 
other  showed  in  the  doorway — the  Wowzer  was  regaining 
his  senses,  stumbling  to  his  knees.  There  was  one  chance—' 
just  one — to  take  those  crowding  figures  by  surprise.  And 
with  a  yell  of  "  Fire!  "Jimmie  Dale  sprang  for  the  doorway. 

They  gave  way  before  his  rush,  Bumbling  back  in  their 
surprise  against  the  opposite  wall ;  and,  turning,  Jimmie  Dale 
raced  down  the  passageway.  Doors  were  opening  every 
where  now,  forms  were  pushing  out  into  the  semi-darkness 
— only  to  duck  hastily  back  again,  as  Jimmie  Dale's  auto 
matic  barked  and  spat  a  running  fire  of  warning  ahead  of 
him.  And  then,  behind,  the  Wowzer's  voice  shrieked  out: 

"  Soak  him !  Kill  de  guy !  He's  croaked  Dago  Jim  i 
Put  a  hole  in  him,  de " 

Yells,  a  chorus  of  them,  took  up  the  refrain — then  the 
rush  of  following  feet — and  the  passageway  seemed  to  racket 
as  though  a  Catling  gun  were  in  play  with  the  fusillade  of 
revolver  shots.  But  Jimmie  Dale  was  at  the  opening  now — 
and,  like  a  base  runner  plunging  for  the  bag,  he  flung  himself 
in  a  low  dive  through  and  into  the  open  cellar  beyond.  He 
was  on  his  feet,  over  the  boxes,  and  dashing  up  the  stairs 
in  a  second.  The  door  above  opened  as  he  reached  the  top — 
Jimmie  Dale's  right  hand  shot  out  with  clubbed  revolver — • 
and  with  a  grunt  Chang  Foo  went  down  before  the  blow 
and  the  headlong  rush.  The  next  instant  Jimmie  Dale  had 
sprung  through  the  tea  shop  and  was  out  on  the  street. 

A  minute,  two  minutes  more,  and  Chinatown  would  be  in 
an  uproar — Chang  Foo  would  see  to  that — and  the  Wowzer 
would  prod  him  on.  The  danger  was  far  from  over  yet. 
And  then,  as  he  ran,  Jimmie  Dale  gave  a  little  gasp  of  re 
lief.  Just  ahead,  drawn  up  at  the  curb,  stood  a  taxicab — • 
waiting,  probably,  for  a  private  slumming  party.  Jimmie 
Dale  put  on  a  spurt,  reached  it,  and  wrenched  the  dooi 
«open, 


DEVIL'S  WORK  159 

"  Quick ! "  he  flung  at  the  startled  chauffeur.  "  The  neai* 
est  subway  station — there's  a  ten-spot  in  it  for  you !  Quick 
man — quick!  Here  they  come!" 

A  crowd  of  Chinese,  pouring  like  angry  hornets  from 
Chang  Foo's  shop,  came  yelling  down  the  street — and  the 
taxi  took  the  corner  on  two  wheels — and  Jimmie  Dale,  pant 
ing,  choking  for  his  breath  like  a  man  spent,  sank  back 
against  the  cushions. 

But  five  minutes  later  it  was  quite  another  Jimmie  Dale, 
composed,  nonchalant,  imperturbable,  who  entered  an  up 
town  subway  train,  and,  choosing  a  seat  alone  near  the  cen 
tre  ot  the  car,  which  at  that  hour  of  night  in  the  downtown 
district  was  almost  deserted,  took  the  crushed  letter  from  his 
pocket.  For  a  moment  he  made  no  attempt  to  read  it,  his 
dark  eyes,  now  that  he  was  free  from  observation,  full  of 
troubled  retrospect,  fixed  on  the  window  at  his  side.  It 
was  not  a  pleasant  thought  that  it  had  cost  a  man  his  life, 
nor  yet  that  that  life  was  also  the  price  of  his  own  freedom. 
True,  if  there  were  two  men  in  the  city  of  New  York  whose 
crimes  merited  neither  sympathy  nor  mercy,  those  two  men 
were  the  Wowzer  and  Dago  Jim — but  yet,  after  all,  it  was 
a  human  life,  and,  even  if  his  own  had  been  in  the  balance, 
thank  God  it  had  been  through  no  act  of  his  that  Dago  Jim 
had  gone  out !  The  Wowzer,  cute  and  cunning,  had  been 
quick  enough  to  say  so  to  clear  himself,  but — Jimmie  Dale 
smiled  a  little  now — neither  the  Wowzer,  nor  Chang  Foo, 
nor  Chinatown  would  ever  be  in  a  position  to  recognise  their 
uninvited  guest ! 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  shifted  to  the  letter  speculatively, 
gravely.  It  seemed  as  though  the  night  had  already  held  a 
year  of  happenings,  and  the  night  was  not  over  yet — there 
was  the  letter !  It  had  already  cost  one  life ;  was  it  to  cost 
another — or  what  ? 

It  began  as  it  always  did.  He  read  it  through  once,  in 
amazement;  a  second  time,  with  a  flush  of  bitter  anger 
creeping  to  his  cheeks  ;  and  a  third  time,  curiously  memoris 
ing,  as  it  were,  snatches  of  it  here  and  there. 


160    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  DEAR  PHILANTHROPIC  CROOK  :  Robbery  of  Hudson* 
Mercantile  National  Bank — trusted  employee  is  ex-convict, 
bad  police  record,  served  term  in  Sing  Sing  three  years 
ago — known  to  police  as  Bookkeeper  Bob,  real  name  is  Robert 

Moyne,  lives  at Street,  Harlem — Inspector  Burton  and 

Lannigar.  of  headquaictTs  trailing  him  now — robbery  not  yet 
made  public " 

There  was  a  great  deal  more — -four  sheets  of  closely 
written  data.  With  an  exclamation  almost  of  dismay,  Jim- 
mie  Dale  pulled  out  his  watch.  So  that  was  what  Burton 
and  Lannigan  were  up  to!  And  he  had  actually  run  into 

them  !    Lord,  the  irony  of  it !    The And  then  Jimmie 

Dale  stared  at  the  dial  of  his  watch  incredulously.  It  was 
still  but  barely  midnight!  It  seemed  impossible  that  since 
leaving  the  theatre  at  a  few  minutes  before  eleven,  he  had 
lived  through  but  a  single  hour ! 

Jimmie  Dale's  fingers  began  to  pluck  at  the  letter,  tearing 
it  into  pieces,  tearing  the  pieces  over  and  over  again  into 
tiny  shreds.  The  train  stopped  at  station  after  station, 
people  got  on  and  off — Jimmie  Dale's  hat  was  over  his  eyes, 
and  his  eyes  were  glued  again  to  the  window.  Had  Book 
keeper  Bob  returned  to  his  flat  in  Harlem  with  the  detectives 
at  his  heels — or  were  Burton  and  Lannigan  still  trailing  the 
man  downtown  somewhere  around  the  cafes?  If  the  for 
mer,  the  theft  of  the  letter  and  its  incident  loss  of  time  had 
been  an  irreparable  disaster;  if  the  latter — well,  who  knewl 
The  risk  was  the  Gray  Seal's ! 

At  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-Fifth  Street  Jimmie  Dale 
left  the  train;  and,  at  the  end  ot  a  sharp  four  minutes'  walk, 
during  which  he  had  dodged  in  and  out  from  street  to  street, 
stopped  on  a  corner  to  survey  the  block  ahead  of  him.  It 
was  a  block  devoted  exclusively  to  flats  and  apartment 
houses,  and,  apart  from  a  few  belated  pedestrians,  was  de 
serted.  Jimmie  Dale  strolled  leisurely  down  one  side, 
crossed  the  street  at  the  end  of  the  block,  and  strolled  lei 
surely  back  on  the  other  side — there  was  no  sign  of  either 
Burton  or  Lannigan.  It  was  a  fairly  safe  presumption  then 


DEVIL'S  WORK  161 

that  Bookkeeper  Bob  had  not  returned  yet,  or  one  of  th« 
detectives  at  least  would  have  been  shadowing  the  house. 

Jimmie  Dale,  smiling  a  little  grimly,  retraced  his  steps 
again,  and  turned  deliberately  into  a  doorway — whose  num 
ber  he  had  noted  as  he  had  passed  a  moment  or  so  before. 
So,  after  all,  there  was  time  yet!  This  was  the  house. 
"  Number  eighteen,"  she  had  said  in  her  letter.  "  A  flat- 
three  stories — Moyne  lives  on  ground  floor." 

Jimmie  Dale  leaned  against  the  vestibule  door — there  wa* 
a  faint  click — a  little  steel  instrument  was  withdrawn  from 
the  lock — and  Jimmie  Dale  stepped  into  the  hall,  where  a  gas 
Jet,  turned  down,  burned  dimly. 

The  door  of  the  ground-floor  apartment  was  at  his  right. 
Jimmie  Dale  reached  up  and  turned  off  the  light.  Again 
those  slim,  tapering,  wonderfully  sensitive  fingers  worked 
with  the  little  steel  instrument,  this  time  in  the  lock  of  the 
ipartment  door — again  there  was  that  almost  inaudible  click 
—and  then  cautiously,  inch  by  inch,  the  door  opened  under 
lis  hand.  He  peered  inside — down  a  hallway  lighted,  if  it 
could  be  called  lighted  at  all,  by  a  subdued  glow  from  two 
open  doors  that  gave  upon  it — peered  intently,  listening  in- 
tetftly,  as  he  drew  a  black  silk  mask  from  his  pocket  and 
slipped  it  over  his  face.  And  then,  silent  as  a  shadow  in  his 
movements,  the  door  left  just  ajar  behind  him,  he  stole  down 
the  carpeted  hallway. 

Opposite  the  first  of  the  open  doorways  Jimmie  Dale 
paused — a  curiously  hard  expression  creeping  over  his  face, 
his  lips  beginning  to  droop  ominously  downward  at  the  cor 
ners.  It  was  a  little  sitting  room,  cheaply  but  tastefully 
furnished,  and  a  young  woman,  Bookkeeper  Bob's  wife  evi 
dently,  and  evidently  sitting  up  for  her  husband,  had  fallen 
sound  asleep  in  a  chair,  her  head  pillowed  on  her  arms  that 
were  outstretched  across  the  table.  For  a  moment  Jimmie 
Dais  held  there,  his  eyes  on  the  scene — and  the  next  moment, 
his  hand  curved  into  a  clenched  fist,  he  had  passed  on  and 
entered  the  adjoining  room. 

It  was  a  child's  bedroom.  A  night  lamp  burned  on  & 
b  beside  the  bed,  and  the  soft  rays  seemed  to  play  and 


162    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

linger  in  caress  on  the  tousled  golden  hair  of  a  little  girjj 
of  perhaps  two  years  of  age — and  something  seemed  to  chok« 
suddenly  in  Jimmie  Dale's  throat — the  sweet,  innocent  lit 
tle  face,  upturned  to  his,  was  smiling  at  him  as  she  slept. 

Jimmie  Dale  turned  away  his  head — his  eyelashes  wet 
under  his  mask.  "Beneath  the  mattress  of  the  child's  bed," 
the  letter  had  said.  His  face  like  stone,  his  lips  a  thin 
line  now,  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  reached  deftly  in  without 
disturbing  the  child  and  took  out  a  package — and  then  an 
other.  He  straightened  up,  a  bundle  of  crisp  new  hundred- 
dollar  notes  in  each  hand — and  on  the  top  of  one,  slipped  un- 
der  the  elastic  band  that  held  the  bills  together,  an  unsealed 
envelope.  He  drew  out  the  latter,  and  opened  it — it  was  a 
second-class  steamship  passage  to  Vera  Cruz,  made  out  in  a 
fictitious  name,  of  course,  to  John  Davies,  the  booking  for 
next  day's  sailing.  From  the  ticket,  from  the  stolen  money, 
Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  lifted  to  rest  again  on  the  little  golden 
head,  the  smiling  lips — and  then,  dropping  the  packages  into 
his  pockets,  his  own  lips  moving  queerly,  he  turned  abruptly 
to  the  door. 

"  My  God,  the  shame  of  it !  "  he  whispered  to  himself. 

He  crept  down  the  corridor,  past  the  open  door  of  the 
room  where  the  young  woman  still  sat  fast  asleep,  and,  his 
mask  in  his  pocket  again,  stepped  softly  into  the  vestibule, 
and  from  there  to  the  street. 

Jimmie  Dale  hurried  now,  spurred  on  it  seemed  by  a  hot, 
insensate  fury  that  raged  within  him — there  was  still  one 
other  call  to  make  that  night — still  those  remaining  and  mi 
nute  details  in  the  latter  part  of  her  letter,  grim  and  ugly  in 
their  portent! 

It  was  close  upon  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Jim 
mie  Dale  stopped  again — this  time  before  a  fashionable 
dwelling  just  off  Central  Park.  And  here,  for  perhaps  thr* 
space  of  a  minute,  he  surveyed  the  house  from  the  side 
walk — watching,  with  a  sort  of  speculative  satisfaction,  a 
man's  shadow  that  passed  constantly  to  and  fro  across  the 
drawn  blinds  of  one  of  the  lower  windows.  The  rest  of 
the  house  was  in  darkness. 


DEVIL'S  WORK  138 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  nodding  his  head,  "  I  rather 
thought  so.  The  servants  will  have  retired  hours  ago.  It's 
safe  enough." 

He  ran  quickly  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell.  A  door 
opened  almost  instantly,  sending  a  faint  glow  into  the  hall 
from  the  lighted  room ;  a  hurried  step  crossed  the  hall — and 
the  outer  door  was  thrown  back. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  demanded  a  voice  brusquely. 

It  was  quite  dark,  too  dark  for  either  to  distinguish  the 
other's  features — and  Jimmie  Dale's  hat  was  drawn  far 
down  over  his  eyes. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Thomas  H.  Carling,  cashier  of  the 
Hudson-Mercantile  National  Bank — it's  very  important," 
said  Jimmie  Dale  earnestly. 

"I  am  Mr.  Carling,"  replied  the  other.    "What  is  it?" 

Jimmie  Dale  leaned  forward. 

"  From  headquarters — with  a  report,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  bank  official  sharply.  "  Well,  it's 
about  time !  I've  been  waiting  up  for  it — though  I  expected 
you  would  telephone  rather  than  this.  Come  in !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  courteously — and  stepped 
into  the  hall. 

The  other  closed  the  front  door.  "  The  servants  are  in 
bed,  of  course,"  he  explained,  as  he  led  the  way  toward  the 
ighted  room.  "  This  way,  please." 

Behind  the  other,  across  the  hall,  Jimmie  Dale  followed — 
and  close  at  Carling's  heels  entered  the  room,  which  was 
fitted  up,  quite  evidently  regardless  of  cost,  as  a  combina 
tion  library  and  study.  Carling,  in  a  somewhat  pompous 
fashion,  walked  straight  ahead  toward  the  carved-mahogany 
flat-topped  desk,  and,  as  he  reached  it,  waved  his  hand. 

"  Take  a  chair,"  he  said,  over  his  shoulder — and  then, 
turning  in  the  act  of  dropping  into  his  own  chair,  grasped 
suddenly  at  the  edge  of  the  desk  instead,  and,  with  a  low, 
itartled  cry,  stared  across  the  room. 

Jimmie  Dale  was  leaning  back  against  the  door  that  was 


12    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 


in  caress  on  the  tousled  golden  hair  of  a  little  girij 
>perhaps  two  years  of  age  —  and  something  seemed  to  choke 
ddenly  in  Jimmie  Dale's  throat  —  the  sweet,  innocent  lit- 
1  face,  upturned  to  his,  was  smiling  at  him  as  she  slept. 

immie  Dale  turned  away  his  head  —  his  eyelashes  wet 
ider  his  mask.  "Beneath  the  mattress  of  the  child's  bed," 
h  letter  had  said.  His  face  like  stone,  his  lips  a  thin 
it  now,  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  reached  deftly  in  without 
liurbing  the  child  and  took  out  a  package  —  and  then  an- 
>t2r.  He  straightened  up,  a  bundle  of  crisp  new  hundred- 
Icar  notes  in  each  hand  —  and  on  the  top  of  one,  slipped  un- 
k  the  elastic  band  that  held  the  bills  together,  an  unsealed 
nelope.  He  drew  out  the  latter,  and  opened  it  —  it  was  a 
eond-class  steamship  passage  to  Vera  Cruz,  made  out  in  a 
ictious  name,  of  course,  to  John  Davies,  the  booking  for 
ic:  day's  sailing.  From  the  ticket,  from  the  stolen  money, 
irnie  Dale's  eyes  lifted  to  rest  again  on  the  little  golden 
ted,  the  smiling  lips  —  and  then,  dropping  the  packages  into 
iis)ockets,  his  own  lips  moving  queerly,  he  turned  abruptly 
o  ic  door. 

My  God,  the  shame  of  it  !  "  he  whispered  to  himself. 

.e  crept  down  the  corridor,  past  the  open  door  of  the 
•oci  where  the  young  woman  still  sat  fast  asleep,  and,  his 
nac  in  his  pocket  again,  stepped  softly  into  the  vestibule, 
Lmfrom  there  to  the  street. 

jnmie  Dale  hurried  now,  spurred  on  it  seemed  by  a  hot, 
nsisate  fury  that  raged  within  him  —  there  was  still  one 
>thr  call  to  make  that  night  —  still  those  remaining  and  mi- 
uit  details  in  the  latter  part  of  her  letter,  grim  and  ugly  in 
he  portent! 

I  was  close  upon  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Jim- 
nicDale  stopped  again  —  this  time  before  a  fashionable 
Iwling  just  off  Central  Park.  And  here,  for  perhaps  thn 
>pa;  of  a  minute,  he  surveyed  the  house  from  the  side- 
wal  —  watching,  with  a  sort  of  speculative  satisfaction,  a 
mas  shadow  that  passed  constantly  to  and  fro  across  the 
dran  blinds  of  one  of  the  lower  windows.  The  rest  oi 
fcheiouse  was  in  darkness. 


DEVIL'S  WORK 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  nodding  his  head,  "  I  ra 
thought  so.    The  servants  will  have  retired  hours  ago. 
safe  enough." 

He  ran  quickly  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell.    A  c 
opened  almost  instantly,  sending  a  faint  glow  into  the 
from  the  lighted  room ;  a  hurried  step  crossed  the  hall— 
the  outer  door  was  thrown  back. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  demanded  a  voice  brusquely. 

It  was  quite  dark,  too  dark  for  either  to  distinguish 
other's  features — and  Jimmie  Dale's  hat  was  drawnf 
down  over  his  eyes. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Thomas  H.  Carling,  cashier  oft 
Hudson-Mercantile  National  Bank — it's  very  importn 
said  Jimmie  Dale  earnestly. 

"I  am  Mr.  Carling,"  replied  the  other.     "What  isti 

Jimmie  Dale  leaned  forward. 

"  From  headquarters — with  a  report,"  he  said,  in  sic 
tone. 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  bank  official  sharply.  "  Wei  i 
about  time !  I've  been  waiting  up  for  it — though  I  expct 
you  would  telephone  rather  than  this.  Come  in !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  courteously — and  stop' 
into  the  hall. 

The  other  closed  the  front  door.     "  The  servants  re 
jed,  of  course,"  he  explained,  as  he  led  the  way  towai  tl 
ighted  room.    "  This  way,  please." 

Behind  the  other,  across  the  hall,  Jimmie  Dale  follo^ed- 
and  close  at  Carling's  heels  entered  the  room,  whic  w 
fitted  up,  quite  evidently  regardless  of  cost,  as  a  cooin 
tion  library  and  study.  Carling,  in  a  somewhat  poipoi 
fashion,  walked  straight  ahead  toward  the  carved-mahgar 
flat-topped  desk,  and,  as  he  reached  it,  waved  his  hanc 

"  Take  a  chair,"  he  said,  over  his  shoulder — andthe 
turning  in  the  act  of  dropping  into  his  own  chair,  gisp( 
suddenly  at  the  edge  of  the  desk  instead,  and,  with  lo> 
*tartled  cry,  stared  across  the  room. 

Jimmie  Dale  was  leaning  back  against  the  door  the  w; 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

closed  now  behind  him — and  on  Jimmie  Dale's  face  was  * 
black  silk  mask. 

For  an  instant  neither  man  spoke  nor  moved ;  then  Car« 
ling,  spare-built,  dapper  in  evening  clothes,  edged  back  from 
the  desk  and  laughed  a  little  uncertainly. 

"  Quite  neat !  I  compliment  you !  From  headquarters 
with  a  report,  I  think  you  said  ?  " 

"  Which  I  neglected  to  add,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  "  was  tft 
be  made  in  private." 

Carling,  as  though  to  put  as  much  distance  between  them 
as  possible,  continued  to  edge  back  across  the  room — but  his 
small  black  eyes,  black  now  to  the  pupils  themselves,  never 
left  Jimmie  Dale's  face. 

"  In  private,  eh  ?  " — he  seemed  to  be  sparring  f^r  time, 
as  he  smiled.  "  In  private !  You've  a  strange  method  of 
securing  privacy,  haven't  you?  A  bit  melodramatic,  isn't 
it?  Perhaps  you'll  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  who  you 
are?" 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled  indulgently. 

"  My  mask  is  only  for  effect,"  he  said.  "  My  name  is — 
Smith." 

"  Yes,"  said  Carling.  "  I  am  very  stupid.  Thank  you. 

I •"  he  had  reached  the  other  side  of  the  room  now — - 

and  with  a  quick,  sudden  movement  jerked  his  hand  to  the 
dial  of  the  safe  that  stood  against  the  wall. 

But  Jimmie  Dale  was  quicker — without  shifting  his  posi 
tion,  his  automatic,  whipped  from  his  pocket,  held  a  discon 
certing  bead  on  Carling's  forehead. 

"  Please  don't  do  that,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  softly.  "  It's 
rather  a  good  make,  that  safe.  I  dare  say  it  would  take  me 
half  an  hour  to  open  it.  I  was  rather  curious  to  know 
whether  it  was  locked  or  not." 

Carling's  hand  dropped  to  his  side. 

"  So !  "  he  sneered.  "  That's  it,  is  it !  The  ordinary 
variety  of  sneak  thief !  "  His  voice  was  rising  gradually. 
"  Well,  sir.  let  me  tell  you  that " 

"  Mr.  Carling,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  a  low,  even  tone, 
**'4nless  vou  moderate  your  voice  some  one  in  the  house 


DEVIL'S  WORK  16B 

might  hear  you — I  ani  quite  well  aware  of  that.  But  if  that 
happens,  if  any  one  enters  this  room,  if  you  make  a  move  to 
touch  a  button,  or  in  any  other  way  attempt  to  attract  at 
tention,  I'll  drop  you  where  you  stand !  "  His  hand,  behind 
his  back,  extracted  the  key  from  the  door  lock,  held  it  up 
for  the  other  to  see,  then  dropped  it  into  his  pocket — and  his 
voice,  cold  before,  rang  peremptorily  now.  "  Come  back  to 
the  desk  and  sit  down  in  that  chair !  "  he  ordered. 

For  a  moment  Carling  hesitated;  then,  with  a  half-mut 
tered  oath,  obeyed. 

Jimmie  Dale  moved  over,  and  stood  in  front  of  Carling 
on  the  other  side  of  the  desk — and  stared  silently  at  the 
immaculate,  fashionably  groomed  figure  before  him. 

Under  the  prolonged  gaze,  Carling's  composure,  in  a 
measure  at  least,  seemed  to  forsake  him.  He  began  to  drum 
nervooaly  with  his  fingers  on  the  desk,  and  shift  uneasily 
in  his  chair. 

And  then,  from  first  one  pocket  and  then  the  other,  Jim-; 
mie  Dale  took  the  two  packages  of  banknotes,  and,  still  with- 
out  a  word,  pushed  them  across  the  desk  until  they  lay  un-. 
der  the  other's  eyes. 

Carling's  fingers  stopped  their  drumming,  slid  to  the  desk 
edge,  tightened  there,  and  a  whiteness  crept  into  his  face. 
Then,  with  an  effort,  he  jerked  himself  erect  in  his  chair. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  demanded  hoarsely. 

"  About  ten  thousand  dollars,  I  should  say,"  said  Jimmie 
Dale  slowly.  "  I  haven't  counted  it.  Your  bank  was  robbed 
this  evening  at  closing  time,  I  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  Carling's  voice  was  excited  now,  the  coloui 
back  in  his  face.  "  But  you — how — do  you  mean  that  you 
are  returning  the  money  to  the  bank  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Jimmie  Dale. 

Carling  was  once  more  the  pompous  bank  official.  He 
leaned  back  and  surveyed  Jimmie  Dale  critically  with  his 
little  black  eyes. 

"  Ah,  quite  so !  "  he  observed.  "  That  accounts  for  the 
qiask.  But  I  am  still  a  little  in  the  dark.  Under  the  cir* 


168    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

deeper  in  his  chair — a  dawning  look  of  terror  in  the  eyea 
that  held,  fascinated,  on  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Yon  cur !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  again.  "  You  cur,  with 
your  devil's  work !  A  year  ago  you  saw  this  night  com 
ing — when  you  must  have  money,  or  face  ruin  and  exposure 
You  saw  it  then,  a  year  ago,  the  day  that  Moyne,  conceal 
ing  nothing  of  his  prison  record,  applied  through  friends 
for  a  position  in  the  bank.  Your  co-officials  were  opposed  to 
his  appointment,  but  you,  do  you  remember  how  you  pleaded 
to  give  the  man  his  chance — and  in  your  hellish  ingenuity 
saw  your  way  then  out  of  the  trap!  An  ex-convict  from 
Sing  Sing!  It  was  enough,  wasn't  it?  What  chance  had 
he!  "  Jimmie  Dale  paused,  his  left  hand  clenched  until  the 
»kin  formed  whitish  knobs  over  the  knuckles. 

Carling's  tongue  sought  his  lips,  made  a  circuit  of  them— 
tnd  he  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  was  an  incoherent  mut« 
iering. 

"  I'll  not  waste  words,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  his  grim 
montone.  "  I'm  not  sure  enough  myself — that  I  could  keep 
my  hands  off  you  much  longer.  The  actual  details  of  ho\v 
you  stole  the  money  to-day  do  not  matter — now.  A  little 
later  perhaps  in  court — but  not  now.  You  were  the  last  to 
leave  the  bank,  but  before  leaving  you  pretended  to  dis 
cover  the  theft  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars — that,  done 
up  in  a  paper  parcel,  was  even  then  reposing  in  your  desk. 
You  brought  the  parcel  home,  put  it  in  that  safe  there — 
and  notified  the  president  of  the  bank  by  telephone  from 
here  of  the  robbery,  suggesting  that  police  headquarters  be 
advised  at  once.  He  told  you  to  go  ahead  and  act  as  you 
saw  best.  You  notified  the  police,  speciously  directing  sus 
picion  to — the  ex-convict  in  the  bank's  employ.  You  knew 
Moyne  was  dining  out  to-night,  you  knew  where — and  at  a 
hint  from  you  the  police  took  up  the  trail.  A  little  later 
in  the  evening,  you  took  these  two  packages  of  banknotes 
from  the  rest,  and  with  this  steamship  ticket — which  you 
obtained  yesterday  while  out  at  lunch  by  sending  a  district 
messenger  boy  with  the  money  and  instructions  in  a  sealed 
SBvelope  to  purchase  for  you — you  went  up  to  the  Moynes' 


DEVIL'S  WORK  169 

flat  in  Harlem  for  the  purpose  of  secreting  them  somewhere 
there.  You  pretended  to  be  much  disappointed  at  finding 
Moyne  out — you  had  just  come  for  a  little  social  visit,  to 
get  better  acquainted  with  the  home  life  of  your  employees! 
Mrs.  Moyne  was  genuinely  pleased  and  grateful.  She  toon 
you  in  t  see  their  little  girl,  who  was  already  asleep  in  bed. 
She  left  you  there  for  a  moment  to  answer  the  door — and 
yOU — you  " — Jimmie  Dale's  voice  choked  again — "  you  blot 
on  God's  earth,  you  slipped  the  money  and  ticket  under  the 
child's  mattress ! " 

Carling  came  forward  with  a  lurch  in  his  chair — and  his 
hands  went  out,  pawing  in  a  wild,  pleading  fashion  over 
Jimmie  Dale's  arm. 

Timmie  Dale  flung  him  away. 

"  You  were  safe  enough,"  he  rasped  on.  "  The  police 
could  only  construe  your  visit  to  Moyne's  flat  as  zeal  on 
behalf  of  the  bank.  And  it  was  safer,  much  more  circum 
spect  on  your  part,  not  to  order  the  flat  searched  at  once, 
but  only  as  a  last  resort,  as  it  were,  after  you  had  led  the 
police  to  trail  him  all  evening  and  still  remain  without  a 
clew — and  besides,  of  course,  not  until  you  had  planted  the 
evidence  that  was  to  damn  him  and  wreck  his  life  and  home! 
You  were  even  generous  in  the  amount  you  deprived  your 
self  of  out  of  the  hundred  thousand  dollars — for  less  would 
have  been  enough.  Caught  with  ten  thousand  dollars  of 
the  bank's  money  and  a  steamship  ticket  made  out  in  a  ficti 
tious  name,  it  was  prima-facie  evidence  that  he  had  done  the 
job  and  had  the  balance  somewhere.  What  would  his 
denials,  his  protestations  of  innocence  count  for?  He  was 
an  ex-convict,  a  hardened  criminal  caught  red-handed  with 
a  portion  of  the  proceeds  of  robbery— he  had  succeeded  in 
hiding  the  remainder  of  it  too  cleverly,  that  was  all." 

Carling's  face  was  ghastly.  His  hands  went  out  again— 
igain  his  tongue  moistened  his  dry  lips.  He  whispered: 

"  Isn't — isn't  there  some — some  way  we  can  fix  this  ?  " 

And  then  Jimmie  Dale  laughed — not  pleasantly. 

"  Yes,  there's  a  way,  Carling,"  he  said  grimly.  "  That's 
I'm  here."  He  picked  up  a  sheet  of  writing  paper  and 


170    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

pushed  it  across  the  desk — then  a  pen,  which  he  dipped  tnt*. 
the  inkstand,  and  extended  to  the  other.  "  The  way  you'll 
fix  it  will  be  to  write  out  a  confession  exonerating  Moyne." 

Carling  shrank  back  into  his  chair,  his  h .  ad  huddling  into 
his  shoulders. 

"No!"  he  cried.  "  I  won't— I  can't— my  God!— I— I— 
won't!" 

The  automatic  in  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  edged  forward  the 
fraction  of  an  inch. 

"  I  have  not  used  this — yet.  You  understand  now  why— « 
don't  you  ?  "  he  said  under  his  breath. 

"  No,  no !  "  Carling  pushed  away  the  pen.  "  I'm  ruined 
— ruined  as  it  is.  But  this  would  mean  the  penitentiary, 
too— 

"  Where  you  tried  to  send  an  innocent  man  in  your  place, 
you  hound ;  where  you — 

"  Some  other  way — some  other  way !  "  Carling  was  bab 
bling.  "  Let  me  out  of  this — for  God's  sake,  let  me  out  of 
this !  " 

"  Carling,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  hoarsely,  "  I  stood  beside  a 
little  bed  to-night  and  looked  at  a  baby  girl — a  little  baby 
girl  with  golden  hair,  who  smiled  as  she  slept." 

Carling  shivered,  and  passed  a  shaking  hand  across  hi3 
face. 

"  Take  this  pen,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  monotonously ;  "  or— 
this!"  The  automatic  lifted  until  the  muzzle  was  on  a  line 
with  Carling's  eyes. 

Carling's  hand  reached  out,  still  shaking,  and  took  the 
pen ;  and  his  body,  dragged  limply  forward,  hung  over  the 
desk.  The  pen  spluttered  on  the  paper — a  bead  of  sweat 
spurting  from  the  man's  forehead  dropped  to  the  sheet. 

There  was  silence  in  the  room.  A  minute  passed — an* 
other.  Carling's  pen  travelled  haltingly  across  the  paper — • 
then,  with  a  queer,  low  cry  as  he  signed  his  name,  he 
dropped  the  pen  from  his  fingers,  and,  rising  unsteadily  from 
his  chair,  stumbled  away  from  the  desk  toward  a  couch 
across  the  room. 

An  instant  Jimmie  Dale  watched  the  other,  then  he  picked 


DEVIL'S  WORK  171 

tip  the  sheet  of  paper.    It  was  a  miserable  document,  mis 
erably  scrawled : 

"  I  guess  it's  all  up.  I  guess  I  knew  it  would  be  some  day. 
Moyne  hadn't  anything  to  do  with  it.  I  stole  the  money  my 
self  from  the  bank  to-night.  I  guess  it's  all  up. 

THOMAS  H.  CARLING." 

From  the  paper,  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  shifted  to  the  figure 
by  the  couch — and  the  paper  fluttered  suddenly  from  his 
fingers  to  the  desk.  Carling  was  reeling,  clutching  at  his 
throat — a  small  glass  vial  rolled  upon  the  carpet.  And  then, 
even  as  Jimmie  Dale  sprang  forward,  the  other  pitched  head 
long  over  the  couch — and  in  a  moment  it  was  over. 

Presently  Jimmie  Dale  picked  up  the  vial — and  dropped 
it  back  on  the  floor  again.  There  was  no  label  on  it,  but 
it  needed  none — the  strong,  penetrating  odor  of  bitter  al- 
tnonds  was  telltale  evidence  enough.  It  was  prussic,  or  hy- 
rlrocyanic  acid,  probably  the  most  deadly  poison  and  the 
swiftest  in  its  action  that  was  known  to  science — Carling  had 
orovided  against  that  "  some  day  "  in  his  confession ! 

For  a  little  space,  motionless,  Jimmie  Dale  stood  looking 
down  at  the  silent,  outstretched  form — then  he  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  desk,  and  slowly,  deliberately  picked  up  the 
signed  confession  and  the  steamship  ticket.  He  held  them 
an  instant,  staring  at  them,  then  methodically  began  to  tear 
them  into  little  pieces,  a  strange,  tired  smile  hovering  on  his 
lips.  The  man  was  dead  now — there  would  be  disgrace 
enough  for  some  one  to  bear,  a  mother  perhaps — who  knew  1 
And  there  was  another  way  now — since  the  man  was  dead. 

Jimmie  Dale  put  the  pieces  in  his  pocket,  went  to  the 
safe,  opened  it,  and  took  out  a  parcel,  locked  the  safe  care 
fully,  and  carried  the  parcel  to  the  desk.  He  opened  it  there. 
Inside  were  nearly  two  dozen  little  packages  of  hundred- 
dollar  bills.  The  other  two  packages  that  he  had  brought 
with  him  he  added  to  the  rest.  From  his  pocket  he  took 
out  the  thin  metal  insignia  case,  and  with  the  tiny 
freezers  lifted  up  one  of  the  gray-coloured,  diamond-shaped 


1Y2    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

paper  seals.  He  moistened  the  adhesive  side,  and,  still  hold 
ing  it  by  the  tweezers,  dropped  it  on  his  handkerchief  and 
pressed  the  seal  down  on  the  face  of  the  topmost  package 
of  banknotes.  He  tied  the  parcel  up  then,  and,  picking  up 
the  pen,  addressed  it  in  printed  characters : 

HUDSON-MERCANTILE  NATIONAL  BANK, 
NEW  YORK  CITY. 

"  District  messenger — some  way — in  the  morning,"  be 
murmured. 

Jimmie  Dale  slipped  his  mask  into  his  pocket,  and,  with 
the  parcel  under  his  arm,  stepped  to  the  door  and  unlocked 
*t.  He  paused  for  an  instant. on  the  threshold  for  a  single, 
quick,  comprehensive  glance  around  the  room — then  passed 
on  out  into  the  street. 

At  the  corner  he  stopped  to  light  a  cigarette — and  the 
flame  of  the  match  spurting  up  disclosed  a  face  that  was 
worn  and  haggard.  He  threw  the  match  away,  smiiea  A 
little  wearily — and  went  on. 

The  Gray  Seal  had  committed  another  "  crime.1" 


CHAPTER 

THE  THIEF 

/"CHOOSING  between  the  snowy  napery,  the  sparkling 
^*/  glass  and  silver,  the  cozy,  shaded  table-lamps,  the 
famous  French  chef  of  the  ultra-exclusive  St.  James  Club, 
his  own  home  on  Riverside  Drive  where  a  dinner  fit  for  an 
epicure  and  served  by  Jason,  that  most  perfect  of  butlers, 
awaited  him,  and  Marlianne's,  Jimmie  Dale,  driving  in  alone 
in  his  touring  car  from  an  afternoon's  golf,  had  chosen — 
Marlianne's. 

Marlianne's,  if  such  a  thing  as  Bohemianism,  or,  rather, 
a  concrete  expression  of  it  exists,  was  Bohemian.  A  two- 
piece  string  orchestra  played  valiant!}'  tx>  the  accompaniment 
of  a  hoarse-throated  piano ;  and  between  courses  tlw  diners 
took  up  the  refrain — and,  as  it  was  always  between  courses 
with  some  one,  the  place  was  a  bedlam  of  noisy  riot.  Never 
theless,  it  was  Marlianne's — and  Jimmie  Dale  liked  Marli 
anne's.  He  had  dined  there  many  times  before,  as  he  had 
just  dined  in  the  person  of  Jimmie  Dale,  the  millionaire,  his 
high-priced  imported  car  at  the  curb  of  the  shabby  street 
outside — and  he  had  dined  there,  disreputable  in  attire,  stedy 
in  appearance,  with  the  police  yelping  at  his  heels,  as  Larry 
the  Bat.  In  either  character  Marlianne's  had  welcomed  him 
with  equal  courtesy  to  its  spotted  linen  and  most  excellent 
table-d'hote  with  vin  ordinaire — for  fifty  cents. 

And  now,  in  the  act  of  reaching  into  his  pocket  for  the 
change  to  pay  his  bill,  Jimmie  Dale  seemed  suddenly  to  ex 
perience  some  difficulty  in  finding  what  he  sought,  and  his 
fingers  went  fumbling  from  one  pocket  to  another.  Two 
men  at  the  table  in  front  of  him  were  talking — their  voices, 
over  a  momentary  lull  in  violin  squeaks,  talk,  laughter,  sing 
tog,  and  the  clatter  of  dishes,  reached  him : 

173 


174    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  ,/IMMIE  DALE 

"  Carling  commit  suicide  !  Not  on  your  life !  No ;  of 
course  he  didn't !  It  was  that  cursed  Gray  Seal  croaked  him, 
just  as  sure  as  you  sit  in  that  chair !  " 

The  other  grunted.  "  Yes ;  but  what'd  the  Gray  Seal 
want  to  pinch  a  hundred  thousand  out  of  the  bank  for,  and 
then  give  it  back  again  the  next  morning?  " 

"  What's  he  done  a  hundred  other  things  for  to  cover 
up  the  real  object  of  what  he's  after?"  retorted  the  first 
speaker,  with  a  short,  vicious  laugh ;  then,  with  a  thump  of 
his  fist  on  the  table :  "  The  man's  a  devil,  a  fiend,  and  any 
where  else  but  New  York  he'd  have  been  caught  and  sent  to 
the  chair  where  he  belongs  long  ago,  and " 

A  burst  of  ragtime  drowned  out  the  man's  words.  Jim- 
mie  Dale  placed  a  fifty-cent  piece  and  a  tip  beside  it  on  his 
dinner  check,  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  rose  from  the  table. 
There  was  a  half-tolerantly  satirical,  half-angry  glint  in  his 
dark,  steady  eyes.  It  was  not  only  the  police  who  yelped  at 
his  heels,  but  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  city.  The 
man  had  not  voiced  his  own  sentiments — he  had  voiced  the 
sentiments  of  New  York !  And  it  was  quite  on  the  cards  that 
if  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  were  ever  caught  his  destination  would 
not  even  be  the  death  cell  and  the  chair  at  Sing  Sing — his  fel 
low  citizens  had  reached  a  pitch  where  they  would  be  quite 
capable  of  literally  Bearing  him  to  pieces  if  they  ever  got  their 
hands  on  him ! 

And  yet  there  were  a  few,  a  very  few,  a  handful  out  of 
five  millions,  who  sometimes  remembered  perhaps  to  thank 
God  that  the  Gray  Seal  lived — that  was  his  reward.  That 
— and  she,  whose  mysterious  letters  prompted  and  impelled 
his,  the  Gray  Seal's,  acts !  She — nameless,  fascinating  in  her 
brilliant  resourcefulness,  amazing  in  her  power,  a  woman 
whose  life  was  bound  up  with  his  and  yet  held  apart  from 
him  in  the  most  inexplicable,  absorbing  way ;  a  woman  he 
had  never  seen,  save  for  her  gloved  arm  in  the  limousine 
that  night,  who  at  one  unexpected  moment  projected  a  daz 
zling,  impersonal  existence  across  his  path,  and  the  next,  leav 
ing  him  battling  for  his  life  where  greed  and  passion  and 
crime  swirled  about  him,  was  gone! 


THE  THIEF  175 

Jimmie  Dale  threaded  the  small,  crowded  rooms — the  in 
terior  of  Marlianne's  had  never  been  altered  from  the  days 
when  the  place  had  been  a  family  residence  of  some  pre 
tension — and,  reaching  the  hall,  received  his  hat  from  the 
frowsy-looking  boy  in  attendance.  He  passed  outside,  and, 
at  the  top  of  the  steps,  paused  as  he  took  his  cigarette  case 
from  his  pocket.  It  was  nearly  a  week  since  Carling,  the 
cashier  of  the  Hudson-Mercantile  National  Bank,  had  been 
found  dead  in  his  home,  a  bottle  that  had  contained  hy 
drocyanic  acid  on  the  floor  beside  him ;  nearly  a  week  since 
Bookkeeper  Bob,  unaware  that  he  had  ever  been  under 
temporary  suspicion  for  the  robbery  of  the  bank,  had, 
equally  unknown  to  himself,  been  cleared  of  any  com 
plicity  in  that  affair — and  yet,  as  witness  the  conversation  of 
a  moment  ago,  it  was  still  the  topic  of  New  York,  still  the 
vital  issue  that  filled  the  maw  of  the  newspapers  with  rav 
ings,  threats,  and  execrations  against  the  Gray  Seal,  snarling 
virulently  the  while  at  the  police  for  the  latter's  ineptitude, 
inefficiency,  and  impotence! 

Jimmie  Dale  closed  his  cigarette  case  with  a  snap  that  was 
almost  human  in  its  irony,  dropped  it  back  into  his  pocket, 
and  lighted  a  match — but  the  flame  was  arrested  halfway  to 
the  tip  of  his  cigarette,  as  his  eyes  fixed  suddenly  and  curi 
ously  on  a  woman's  form  hurrying  down  the  street.  She 
had  turned  the  corner  before  he  took  his  eyes  from  her, 
and  the  match  between  his  fingers  had  gone  out.  Not  that 
there  was  anything  very  strange  in  a  woman  walking,  or 
even  half  running,  along  the  street ;  nor  that  there  was  any 
thing  particularly  attractive  or  unusual  about  her,  and  if 
there  had  been  the  street  was  too  dark  for  him  to  have  dis 
tinguished  it.  It  was  not  that — it  was  the  fact  that  she  had 
neither  passed  by  the  house  on  whose  steps  he  stood,  nor 
come  out  of  any  of  the  adjoining  houses.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  suddenly  and  miraculously  appeared  out  of  thin 
air,  and  taken  form  on  a  sidewalk  a  little  way  down  from 
Marlianne's. 

"  That's  queer ! "  commented  Jimmie  Dale  to  himself. 
"  However "  He  took  out  another  match,  lighted  his  cig- 


176    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

arette,  jerked  the  match  stub  away  from  him,  and,  with  & 
lift  of  his  shoulders,  went  down  the  steps. 

He  crossed  the  pavement,  walked  around  the  front  of  his 
machine,  since  the  steering  wheel  was  on  the  side  next  to 
the  curb,  and,  with  his  hand  out  to  open  he  car  door — • 
stopped.  Some  one  had  been  tampering  with  it — it  was  not 
quite  closed.  There  was  no  mistake.  Jimmie  Dale  mad© 
no  mistakes  of  that  kind,  a  m^n  whose  life  hung  a  dozei? 
times  a  day  on  little  things  could  not  afford  to  make  them. 
He  had  closed  it  firmlyf  even  with  a  bang,  when  he  had  gof 
out. 

Instantly  suspicious,  he  wrenched  the  door  wide  open 
switched  on  the  light  under  the  hood,  and,  with  a  sharp  ex* 
clamation,  bent  quickly  forward.  A  glove,  a  woman's  glove, 
a  white  glove  lay  on  the  floor  of  the  car.  Jimmie  Dale's 
pulse  leaped  suddenly  into  fierce,  pounding  beats.  It  was 
hers!  He  knezv  that  intuitively — knew  it  as  he  knew  that  he 
breathed.  And  that  woman  he  had  so  leisurely  watched 
as  she  had  disappeared  from  sight  was,  must  have  been— 
she! 

He  sprang  from  the  car  with  a  jump,  his  first  impulse  to 
dash  after  her — and  checked  himself,  laughing  a  little  bit 
terly.  It  was  too  late  for  that  now — he  had  already  let  hi* 
chance  slip  through  his  fingers.  Around  the  corner  was 
Sixth  Avenue,  surface  cars,  the  elevated,  taxicabs,  a  multi 
tude  of  people,  any  one  of  a  hundred  ways  in  which  she 
could,  and  would,  already  have  discounted  pursuit  from  him 
— and,  besides,  he  would  not  even  have  been  able  to  recog 
nise  her  if  he  saw  her! 

Jimmie  Dale's  smile  was  mirthless  as  he  turned  back  to 
the  car,  and  picked  up  the  glove.  Why  had  she  dropped 
it  there?  It  could  not  have  been  intentional.  Why  had — 
he  began  to  tear  suddenly  at  the  glove's  little  finger,  and 
in  another  second,  kneeling  on  the  car's  step,  his  shoulders 
inside,  he  was  holding  a  ring  close  under  the  little  electric 
bulb. 

It  was  a  gold  seal  ring,  a  small,  dainty  thing  that  bore  a 
west :  a  bell,  surmounted  by  a  bishop's  mitre — the  bell,  quaraH 


THE  THIEF  177 

fci  design,  harking  the  imagination  back  to  some  old-time 
belfry  tower.  And  underneath,  in  the  scroll — a  motto.  It 
was  a  full  minute  before  Jimmie  Dale  could  decipher  it,  for 
the  lettering  was  minute  and  the  words,  of  course,  reversed. 
It  was  in  French :  Sonnez  le  Tocsin. 

He  straightened  up,  the  glove  and  ring  in  his  hand,  a  puz 
zled  expression  on  his  face.  It  was  strange !  Had  she,  after 
all,  dropped  the  glove  there  intentionally ;  had  she  at  last  let 
down  the  barriers  just  a  little  between  them,  and  given  him 
this  little  intimate  sign  that  she 

And  then  Jimmie  Dale  laughed  abruptly,  self-mockingly. 
He  was  only  trying  to  deceive  himself,  to  argue  himself  into 
believing  what,  with  heart  and  soul,  he  wanted  to  believe. 
It  was  not  like  her — and  neither  was  it  so!  His  eyes  had 
fixed  on  the  seat  beside  the  wheel.  He  had  not  used  the  lap 
rug  all  that  day,  he  couldn't  use  a  rug  and  drive,  he  had  left 
it  folded  and  hanging  on  the  rack  in  the  tonneau — it  was 
now  neatly  folded  and  reposing  on  the  front  seat! 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  a  sort  of  self-pity  in  his  tones, 
*  I  might  have  known." 

He  lifted  the  rug.  Beneath  it  on  the  leather  seat  lay  a 
white  envelope.  Her  letter!  The  letter  that  never  came 
gave  with  the  plan  of  some  grim,  desperate  work  outlined 
ahead — the  call  to  arms  for  the  Gray  Seal.  Sonnez  le 
Tocsin !  Ring  the  Tocsin !  Sound  the  alarm !  The  Tocsin ! 
The  words  were  running  through  his  brain.  A  strange 
motto  on  that  crest — that  seemed  so  strangely  apt!  The 
Tocsin !  Never  once  in  all  the  times  that  he  had  heard  from 
her,  never  once  in  the  years  that  had  gone  since  that  initial 
letter  of  hers  had  struck  its  first  warning  note,  had  any 
communication  from  her  been  but  to  sound  again  a  new 
alarm — the  Toscin!  The  Tocsin — the  word  seemed  to  vis 
ualise  her,  to  give  her  a  concrete  form  and  being,  to  breathe 
her  very  personality. 

"  The  Tocsin !  " — Jimmie  Dale  whispered  the  word  sot'tlye 
a  little  wistfully.  "Yes;  I  shall  call  you  that — the  Toc 
sin!" 

.He  folded  the  glove  very  carefully,  placed  it  with  the  I'ing 


178    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

in  his  pocketbook,  picked  up  the  letter — and,  with  a  sharp 
exclamation,  turned  it  quickly  over  in  his  fingers,  then  bent 
hurriedly  with  it  to  the  light. 

Strange  things  were  happening  that  night !  For  the  first 
time,  the  letter  was  not  even  sealed!  That  was  not  like  her, 
either !  What  did  it  mean  ?  Quick,  alert  now,  anxious  even, 
he  pulled  the  double,  folded  sheets  from  the  envelope, 
glanced  rapidly  through  them — and,  after  a  moment,  a  smile, 
whimsical,  came  slowly  to  his  lips. 

It  was  quite  plain  now — all  of  it.  The  glove,  the  ring, 
and  the  unsealed  letter — and  the  postscript  held  the  secret ; 
or,  rather,  what  had  been  intended  for  a  postscript  did,  for  it 
comprised  only  a  few  words,  ending  abruptly,  unfinished: 
"  Look  in  the  cupboard  at  the  rear  of  the  room.  The  man 
with  the  red  wig  is —  That  was  all,  and  the  words, 

written  in  ink,  were  badly  blurred,  as  though  the  paper  had 
been  hastily  folded  before  the  ink  was  dry. 

It  was  quite  plain;  and,  in  view  of  the  real  explanation 
of  it  all,  eminently  characteristic  of  her.  With  the  letter 
already  written,  she  had  come  there,  meaning  to  place  it  on 
the  seat  and  cover  it  with  the  rug,  as,  indeed,  she  had  done ; 
then,  deciding  to  add  the  postscript,  and  because  she  would 
attract  less  attention  that  way  than  in  any  other,  she  had 
climbed  into  the  car  as  though  it  belonged  to  her,  and  had 
seated  herself  there  to  write  it.  She  would  have  been  hurried 
in  her  movements,  of  course,  and  in  pulling  off  her  glove  to 
use  the  fountain  pen  the  ring  had  come  with  it.  The  rest  was 
obvious.  She  had  but  just  begun  to  write  when  he  had  ap 
peared  on  the  steps.  She  had  slipped  instantly  down  to  the 
floor  of  the  car,  probably  dropping  the  glove  from  her  lap, 
hastily  inclosed  the  letter  in  the  envelope  which  she  had  no 
time  to  seal,  thrust  the  envelope  under  the  rug,  and,  for 
getting  her  glove  and  fearful  of  risking  his  attention  by  at 
tempting  to  close  the  door  firmly,  had  stolen  along  the  body 
of  the  car,  only  to  be  noticed  by  him  too  late — when  she  was 
well  down  the  street ! 

And  at  that  latter  thought,  once  more  chagrin  seized  Jim- 
mie  Dale — then  he  turned  imoulsively  to  the  letter.  All  thif 


THE  THIEF  179 

was  extraneous,  apart — for  another  time,  when  every  mo 
ment  was  not  a  priceless  asset  as  it  very  probably  was  now. 

"  Dear  Philanthropic  Crook  " — it  always  began  that  way, 
never  any  other  way.  He  read  on  more  and  more  intently, 
crouched  there  close  to  the  light  on  the  floor  of  his  car,  lips 
thinning  as  he  proceeded — read  it  to  the  end,  absorbing, 
memorising  it — and  then  the  abortive  postscript: 

"  Look  in  the  cupboard  at  the  rear  of  the  room.  The 
man  with  the  red  wig  is " 

For  an  instant,  as  mechanically  he  tore  the  letter  into  little 
shreds,  he  held  there  hesitant — and  the  next,  slamming  the 
door  tight,  he  flung  himself  into  the  seat  behind  the  wheel, 
and  the  big,  sixty-horse-power,  self-starting  machine  was 
roaring  down  the  street. 

The  Tocsin!  There  was  a  grim  smile  on  Jimmie  Dale's 
lips  now.  The  alarm  1  Yes,  it  was  always  an  alarm,  quick, 
sudden,  an  emergency  to  face  on  the  instant — plans,  deci 
sions  to  be  made  with  no  time  to  ponder  them,  with  only 
that  one  fact  to  consider,  staggering  enough  in  itself,  that 
a  mistake  meant  disaster  and  ruin  to  some  one  else,  and 
to  himself,  if  the  courts  were  merciful  where  he  had  little 
hope  for  mercy,  the  penitentiary  for  life ! 

And  now  to-night  again,  as  it  almost  always  was  when 
these  mysterious  letters  came,  every  moment  of  inaction  was 
piling  up  the  odds  against  him.  And,  too,  the  same  problem 
confronted  him.  How,  in  what  way,  in  what  role,  must  he 
play  the  night's  game  to  its  end?  As  Larry  the  Bat? 

The  car  was  speeding  forward.  He  was  heading  down 
Broadway  now,  lower  Broadway,  that  stretched  before  him, 
deserted  like  some  dark,  narrow  canon  where,  far  below,  like 
towering  walls,  the  buildings  closed  together  and  seemed  tq 
converge  into  some  black,  impassable  barrier.  The  street 
lights  flashed  by  him ;  a  patrolman  stopped  the  swinging  of 
his  nightstick,  and  turned  to  gaze  at  the  car  that  rushed  by  at 
a  rate  perilously  near  to  contempt  of  speed  laws ;  street  cars 
passed  at  indifferent  intervals  ;  pedestrians  were  few  and  far 
between — it  was  the  lower  Broadway  of  night. 

Larry  the  Bat?    Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head  impatiently 


180    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

over  the  steering  wheel.  No ;  that  would  not  do.  It  would 
be  well  enough  for  this  young  Burton,  perhaps,  but  not  for 
old  Isaac,  the  East  Side  fence — for  Isaac  knew  him  in  the 
character  of  Larry  the  Bat.  His  quick,  keen  brain,  weav 
ing,  eliminating,  devising,  scheming,  discarded  that  idea. 
The  final  coup  of  the  night,  as  yet  but  sensed  in  an  indefi 
nite,  unshaped  way,  if  enacted  in  the  person  of  Larry  the 
Bat  would  therefore  stamp  Larry  the  Bat  and  the  Gray  Seal 
as  one — a  contretemps  but  little  less  fatal,  in  view  of  old 
Issac,  than  to  bracket  the  Gray  Seal  and  Jimmie  Dale! 
Larry  the  Bat  was  not  a  character  to  be  assumed  with  im 
punity,  nor  one  to  jeopardize — it  was  a  bulwark  of  safety, 
at  it  were,  to  which  more  than  once  he  owed  escape  from 
capture  and  discovery. 

He  lifted  his  shoulders  with  a  sudden  jerk  of  decision  as 
the  car  swerved  to  the  left  and  headed  for  the  East  Side. 
There  was  only  one  alternative  then — the  black  silk  mask 
that  folded  into  such  tiny  compass,  and  that,  together  with 
an  automatic  and  the  curious,  thin  metal  case  that  looked 
so  like  a  cigarette  case,  was  always  in  his  pocket  for  an 


emergency 


The  car  turned  again,  and,  approaching  its  destination, 
Jimmie  Dale  slowed  down  the  speed  perceptibly.  It  was  a 
strange  case,  not  a  pleasant  one — and  the  raw  edges  where 
they  showed  were  ugly  in  their  nakedness.  Old  Isaac  Pelina, 
young  Burton,  and  Maddon — K.  Wilmington  Maddon,  the 
wall-paper  magnate!  Curious,  that  of  the  three  he  should 
already  know  two — old  Isaac  and  Maddon!  Everybody  in 
the  East  Side,  every  denizen  of  the  underworld,  and  many 
who  posed  on  a  far  higher  plane  knew  old  Isaac — fence  to 
the  most  select  clientele  of  thieves  in  New  York,  unscrupu 
lous,  hand  in  glove  with  any  rascality  or  crime  that  promised 
profit,  a  money  lender,  a  Shylock  without  even  a  Shylock's 
humanity  as  a  saving  grace  !  Yes ;  as  Larry  the  Bat  he  knew 
old  Isaac,  and  he  knew  him  not  only  personally  but  by  first 
hand  reputation — he  had  heard  the  man  cursed  in  blasphe 
mous,  whole-souled  abandon  by  more  than  one  crook  who 
was  in  the  old  fence's  toils.  They  dealt  with  him.  the 


THE  THIEF  181 

crooks,  while  they  swore  to  "  get "  him  because  he  was 
"  safe,"  but — Jimmie  Dale's  lips  parted  in  a  mirthless  smile 
—some  day  old  Isaac  would  be  found  in  that  spiders'  den 
of  his  back  of  the  dingy  loan  office  with  a  knife  in  his  heart 
or  a  bullet  through  his  head !  And  K.  Wilmington  Maddon 
— Jimmie  Dale's  smile  grew  whimsical — he  had  known  Mad 
don  quite  intimately  for  years,  had  even  dined  with  him  at 
the  St.  James  Club  only  a  few  nights  before.  Maddon  was 
a  man  in  his  own  "  set  " — and  Maddon,  interfered  with,  was 
likely  to  prove  none  too  tractable  a  customer  to  handle.  And 
young  Burton,  the  letter  had  said,  was  Maddon's  private 
and  confidential  secretary.  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  thinned 
again.  Well,  Burton's  acquaintance  was  still  to  be  made! 
It  was  a  curious  trio — and  it  was  dirty  work,  more  raw 
than  cunning,  more  devilish  than  ingenious ;  blackmail  in 
its  most  hellish  form ;  the  stake,  at  the  least  calculation,  a 
cool  half  million.  A  heavy  price  for  a  single  slip  in  a  man's 
life! 

He  brought  the  car  abruptly  to  a  halt  at  the  edge  of  the 
curb,  and  sprang  out  to  the  ground.  He  was  in  front  of 
*  The  Budapest "  restaurant,  a  garish  establishment,  most 
popular  of  all  resorts  for  the  moment  on  the  East  Side, 
where  Fifth  Avenue,  in  the  fond  belief  that  it  was  seeing 
the  real  thing  in  "  seamy  "  life,  engaged  its  table  a  week 
in  advance.  Jimmie  Dale  pushed  a  bill  into  the  door  at 
tendant's  hand,  accompanied  by  an  injunction  to  keep  an 
eye  on  the  machine,  and  entered  the  cafe. 

But  for  a  sort  of  tinselled  ostentation  the  place  might 
well  have  been  the  Marlianne's  that  he  had  just  left — it  was 
crowded  and  riot  was  at  its  height;  a  stringed  orchestra  in 
Hungarian  costume  played  what  purported  to  be  Hungarian 
airs ;  shouts,  laughter,  clatter  of  dishes,  and  thump  of  steins 
added  to  the  din.  He  made  his  way  between  the  close- 
packed  tables  to  the  stairs,  and  descended  to  the  lower 
floor.  Here,  if  anything,  the  confusion  was  greater  than 
above ;  but  here,  too,  was  an  exit  through  to  the  rear  street 
•—and  a  moment  later  he  was  sauntering  past  the  front  of 
an  unkempt  little  pawnshop,  closed  for  the  night,  ovei  *rhost 


132    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

door,  in  the  murk  of  a  distant  street  lamp,  three  balls  hung 
in  sagging  disarray,  tawny  with  age,  and  across  whose  dirty, 
unwashed  windows,  letters  missing,  ran  the  legend : 

IS  AC  PELINA 
Pawrn  brok  r 

The  pawnshop  made  the  corner  of  a  very  dark  and  nar 
row  lane — and,  with  a  quick  glance  around  him  to  assure 
himself  that  he  was  unobserved,  Jimmie  Dale  stepped  into 
the  alleyway,  and,  lost  instantly  in  the  blacker  shadows, 
stole  along  by  the  wall  of  the  pawnshop.  Old  Isaac's  busi 
ness  was  not  all  done  through  the  front  door. 

And  then  suddenly  Jimmie  Dale  shrank  still  closer  against 
the  wall.  Was  it  intuition,  premonition — or  reality  ?  There 
seemed  an  uncanny  feeling  of  presence  around  him,  a> 
though  perhaps  he  were  watched,  as  though  others  beside 
himself  were  in  the  lane.  Yes ;  ahead  of  him  a  shado\» 
moved — he  could  just  barely  distinguish  it  now  that  hii 
eyes  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  darkness.  It,  like  him 
self,  was  close  against  the  wall,  and  now  it  slunk  noiselessly 
down  the  length  of  the  lane  until  he  lost  sight  of  it.  Andf 
what  was  that?  He  strained  his  ears  to  listen.  It  seemed 
like  a  window  being  opened  or  closed,  cautiously,  stealthily, 
the  fraction  of  an  inch  at  a  time.  And  then  he  located 
the  sound — it  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  lane  and  verj 
nearly  opposite  to  where,  on  the  second  floor,  a  dull,  yellow 
glow  shone  out  from  old  Isaac's  private  den  in  the  rear  of 
the  pawnshop's  office. 

Jimmie  Dale's  brows  were  gathered  in  sharp  furrows 
There  was  evidently  something  afoot  to-night  of  which  tin 
Tocsin  had  not  sounded  the  alarm.  And  then  the  frow« 
relaxed,  and  he  sr<iled  a  little.  Miraculous  as  was  the 
means  through  which  she  obtained  the  knowledge  that  wa* 
the  basis  of  their  strange  partnership,  it  was  no  mor* 
miraculous  than  her  unerring  accuracy  in  the  minutest  dc 
tails.  The  Tocsin  had  never  tailed  him  yet.  It  was  possible 
jhat  something  was  afoot  around  him,  quite  probable,  indeed, 
since  he  was  in  the  most  vicious  part  of  the  cityr  in  the  hcs»s-3 


THE  THIEF  183 

of  gangland;  but  whatever  it  might  be,  it  was  certainly 
extraneous  to  his  mission  01  she  would  have  mentioned  it. 

The  lane  was  empty  now,  he  was  quite  sure  of  that — and 
there  was  no  further  sound  from  the  window  opposite.  He 
started  forward  once  more — only  to  halt  again  for  the 
second  time  as  abruptly  as  before,  squeezing  if  possible  even 
more  closely  against  the  wall.  Some  one  had  turned  into  the 
lane  from  the  sidewalk,  and,  walking  hurriedly,  choosing 
with  evident  precaution  the  exact  centre  of  the  alleyway, 
came  toward  him. 

The  man  passed,  his  hurried  stride  a  half  run ;  and,  a  few 
feet  beyond,  halted  at  old  Isaac's  side  door.  From  some 
where  inside  the  old  building  Jimmie  Dale's  ears  caught  the 
faint  ringing  of  an  electric  bell ;  a  long  ring,  followed  in 
quick  succession  by  three  short  ones — then  the  repeated 
clicking  of  a  latch,  as  though  pulled  by  a  cord  from  above, 
and  the  man  passed  in  through  the  door,  closing  it  behind 
him. 

Jimmie  Dale  nodded  to  himself  in  the  darkness.  It  was 
a  spring  lock ;  the  signal  was  one  long  ring  and  three  short 
ones — the  Tocsin  had  not  missed  even  those  small  details, 
Also,  Burton  was  late  for  his  appointment,  for  that  must 
have  been  Burton — business  such  as  old  Isaac  had  in  hand 
that  night  would  have  permitted  the  entrance  of  no  other 
visitor  but  K.  Wilmington  Maddon's  private  secretary. 

He  moved  down  the  lane  to  the  door,  and  tried  it  softly. 
It  was  locked,  of  course.  The  slim,  tapering,  sensitive 
fingers,  whose  tips  were  eyes  and  ears  to  Jimmie  Dale,  felt 
over  the  lock — and  a  slender  little  steel  instrument  slipped 
into  the  keyhole.  A  moment  more  and  the  catch  was  re 
leased,  and  the  door,  under  his  hand,  began  to  open.  With 
it  ajar,  he  paused,  his  eyes  searching  intently  up  and  down 
the  lane.  There  was  nothing,  no  sign  of  any  one,  no  moving 
shadows  now.  His  gaze  shifted  to  the  window  opposite. 
Directly  facing  it  now,  with  the  dull  reflection  upon  it  from 
the  lighted  window  of  old  Isaac's  den  above  his  head,  he 
eould  make  out  that  it  was  open — but  that  was  all. 

Once  more  he  smiled — a  little  tolerantly  at  himself  this 


184    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

time.  Some  one  had  been  in  the  lane ;  some  one  had  opened 
the  window  of  his  or  her  room  in  that  tenement  house 
across  from  him — surely  there  was  nothing  surprising,  un 
natural,  or  even  out  of  the  commonplace  in  that.  He  had 
been  a  little  bit  on  edge  himself,  perhaps,  and  the  sudden 
movement  of  that  shadow,  unexpected,  had  startled  him  fot 
the  moment,  as,  in  all  probability,  the  opening  of  the  window 
had  startled  the  skulking  figure  itself  into  action. 

The  door  was  open  now.  He  stepped  noiselessly  inside, 
and  closed  it  noiselessly  behind  him.  He  was  in  a  narrow 
hall,  where  a  few  yards  away,  a  light  shone  down  a  stairway 
at  right  angles  to  the  hall  itself. 

"  Rear  door  of  pawnshop  opens  into  hall,  and  exactly 
opposite  very  short  flight  of  stairs  leading  directly  to  door 
way  of  Isaac's  den  above.  Ramshackle  old  place,  low  ceil 
ings.  Isaac,  when  sitting  in  his  den,  can  look  down,  and, 
by  means  of  a  transom  over  the  rear  door  of  the  shop,  see 
the  customers  as  they  enter  from  the  street,  while  he  als$ 
keeps  an  eye  on  his  assistant.  Latter  always  locks  up  and 
leaves  promptly  at  six  o'clock "  Jimmie  Dale  was  sub 
consciously  repealing  to  himself  snatches  from  the  Tocsin's 
letter,  which,  as  subconsciously  in  reading,  he  had  memorised 
almost  word  for  word. 

And  now  voices  reached  him — one,  excited,  nervous,  as 
though  the  speaker  were  labouring  und  :  mental  strain 
that  bordered  closely  on  the  hysterical ;  the  other,  curiously 
mingling  a  querulousness  with  an  attempt  to  pacify,  but 
dominantly  contemptuous,  sneering,  cold. 

Jimrnie  Dale  moved  along  the  hall — very  slowly — without 
a  sound — testing  each  step  before  he  threw  his  body  weight 
from  one  leg  to  the  other.  He  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
The  Tocsin  had  been  right ;  it  was  a  very  short  flight.  He 
counted  the  steps — there  were  eight.  Above,  facing  him, 
a  door  was  open.  The  voices  were  louder  now.  It  was 
a  sordid-looking  room,  what  he  could  see  of  it,  poverty- 
stricken  in  its  appearance,  intentionally  so  probably  for 
effect,  with  no  attempt  whatever  at  furnishing.  He  could 
cec  through  the  doorway  to  the  window  that  opened  on  the 


THE  THIEF  185 

alleyway,  or,  rather,  just  glimpse  the  top  of  the  window  at 
an  angle  across  the  room — that  and  a  bare  stretch  of  floor. 
The  two  men  were  not  in  the  line  of  vision. 

Burton's  voice — it  was  unquestionably  Burton  speaking — 
came  to  Jimmie  Dale  now  distinctly. 

"  No,  I  didn't !  I  tell  you,  I  didn't !  I— I  hadn't  the 
nerve." 

Jimmie  Dale  slipped  his  black  silk  mask  over  his  face; 
and  with  extreme  caution,  on  hands  and  knees,  began  to 
climb  the  stairs. 

"  So !  "  It  was  old  Isaac  now,  in  a  half  purr,  half  sneer. 
"And  I  was  so  sure,  my  young  friend,  that  you  had. 
I  was  so  sure  that  you  were  not  such  a  fool.  Yes ;  I  could 
even  have  sworn  that  they  were  in  your  pocket  now — 
what  ?  It  is  too  bad — too  bad !  It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing 
to  think  of,  that  little  chair  up  the  river  in  its  horrible  little 
room  where " 

"  For  God's  sake,  Isaac — not  that !  Do  you  hear — not 
that!  My  God,  I  didn't  mean  to — I  didn't  know  what  I 
was  doing ! " 

Jimmie  Dale  crept  up  another  step,  another,  and  another. 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment  in  the  room;  then  Burton 
again,  hoarse-voiced: 

"  Isaac,  I'll  make  good  to  you  some  other  way.  I  swear 
I  will — I  swear  it !  If  I'm  caught  at  this  I'll — I'll  get 
fifteen  years  for  it." 

"  And  which  would  you  rather  have  ? "  Jimmie  Dale 
could  picture  the  oily  smirk,  the  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
the  outthrust  hands,  palms  upward,  elbows  in  at  the  hips, 
the  fingers  curved  and  wide  apart — "fifteen  years,  or  what 
you  get — for  murder  ?  Eh,  my  friend,  you  have  thought  of 
that — eh  ?  It  is  a  very  little  price  I  ask — yes  ?  " 

"  Damn  you !  "  Burton's  voice  was  shrill,  then  dropped 
to  a  half  sob.  "  No,  no,  Isaac,  I  didn't  mean  that.  Only, 
for  God's  sake  be  merciful!  It  is  not  only  the  risk  of  the 
penitentiary;  it's  more  than  that.  I — I  tried  to  play  white 
all  my  life,  and  until  that  cursed  night  there's  no  man  living 
could  say  I  haven't.  You  know  that — you  know  that, 


186    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Isaac.  I  tell  you  I  couldn't  do  it  this  afternoon — I  tell  you 
I  couldn't.  I  tried  to  and — and  I  couldn't." 

Jimmie  Dale  was  lying  flat  on  the  little  landing  nowv 
peering  into  the  room.  Back  a  short  distance  from  the 
doorway,  a  repulsive-looking  little  man  in  unkempt  clothes 
and  soiled  linen,  with  yellowish-skinned,  parchment  face, 
out  of  which  small  black  eyes  shone  cunningly  and  shrewdly, 
sat  at  a  bare  deal  table  in  a  rickety  chair ;  facing  him  across 
the  table  stood  a  young  man  of  not  more  than  twenty-five, 
clean  cut,  well  dressed,  but  whose  face  was  unnaturally 
white  now,  and  whose  hand,  as  he  extended  it  in  a  pleading 
gesture  toward  the  other,  trembled  visibly.  Jimmie  Dale's 
hand  made  its  way  quietly  to  his  side  pocket  and  extracted 
his  automatic. 

Old  Isaac  humped  his  shoulders,  and  leered  at  his  visitor. 

"  We  talk  a  great  deal,  my  young  friend.  What  is  the 
use  ?  A  bargain  is  a  bargain.  A  few  rubies  in  exchange  for 
your  life.  A  few  rubies  and  my  mouth  is  shut.  Other 
wise  " — he  humped  his  shoulders  again.  "  Well  ?  " 

Burton  drew  back,  swept  his  hand  in  a  dszed  way  across 
his  eyes — and  laughed  out  suddenly  in  bitter  mirth. 

"  A  few  rubies !  "  he  cried.  "  The  most  magnificent  stones 
on  this  side  of  the  water — a  few  rubies !  It's  been  Maddon's 
life  hobby.  Every  child  in  New  York  knows  that !  A  few — • 
yes,  there's  only  a  few — but  those  few  are  worth  a  fortune. 
He  trusts  me,  the  man  has  been  like  a  father  to  me,  and " 

"  So  you  are  the  very  last  to  be  suspected,"  observed  old 
Isaac  suavely.  "  Have  I  not  told  you  that?  There  is  noth 
ing  to  fear.  Did  we  not  arrange  everything  so  nicely — eh, 
my  young  friend?  See,  it  was  to-night  that  Maddon  gives 
a  little  reception  to  his  friends,  and  did  you  not  say  that  the 
rubies  would  be  taken  from  the  safe-deposit  vault  this  ^5ter- 
noon  since  his  friends  always  clamoured  to  see  them  as  a 
very  fitting  conclusion  to  an  evening's  entertainment?  And 
did  you  not  say  that  you  very  naturally  had  access  to  the 
safe  in  the  library  where  you  worked,  and  that  he  would  not 
notice  they  were  gone  until  he  came  to  look  for  them  some 
$irne  this  evening?  I  think  you  said  all  that.  And  what 


THE  THIEF  187 

suspicion,  let  alone  proof,  would  attach  itself  to  you?  You 
were  out  of  the  room  once  when  he,  too,  was  absent  for 
perhaps  half  an  hour.  It  is  very  simple.  In  that  half  hour,, 
some  one,  somehow,  abstracted  them.  Certainly  it  was  not 
you.  You  see  how  little  I  ask — and  I  pay  well,  do  I  not? 
And  so  I  gave  you  until  to-night.  Three  days  have  gone, 
and  I  have  said  nothing,  and  the  body  has  not  been  found — 
eh?  But  to-night — eh — ?t  was  understood!  The  rubies— 
or  the  chair." 

Burton's  lips  moved,  but  it  was  a  moment  before  he 
could  speak. 

"  You  wouldn't  dare !  "  he  whispered  thickly.  "  You 
wouldn't  dare !  I'd  tell  the  story  of — of  what  you  tried  to 
make  me  do,  and  they'd  send  you  up  for  it." 

Old  Isaac  shrugged  with  pitying  contempt. 

"  Is  it,  after  all,  a  fool  I  am  dealing  with ! "  he  sneered. 
"  And  I — what  should  I  say  ?  That  you  had  stolen  the 
stones  from  your  employer  and  offered  them  as  a  bribe 
to  silence  me,  and  that  I  had  refused.  The  very  act  of 
handing  you  over  to  the  police  would  prove  the  truth  of 
what  I  said  and  rob  you  of  even  a  chance  of  leniency — for 
that  other  thing.  Is  it  not  so — eh?  And  why  did  I  not 
hand  you  over  at  once  three  nights  ago?  Believe  me,  my 
young  friend,  I  should  have  a  very  good  reason  ready,  a 
dozen,  if  necessary,  if  it  came  to  that.  But  we  are  borrow 
ing  trouble,  are  we  not  ?  We  shall  not  come  to  that — eh  ?  " 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  Jimmie  Dale,  as  he  watched, 
that  Burton  would  hurl  himself  upon  the  other.  White  to 
the  lips,  the  muscles  of  his  face  twitching,  Burton  clenched 
his  fists  and  leaned  over  the  table — and  then,  with  sudden 
revulsion  of  emotion,  he  drew  back  once  more,  and  once 
more  came  that  choked  sob: 

"  You'll  pay  for  this,  Isaac — your  turn  will  come  for  this ! 

"  I  have  been  threatened  very  often,"  snapped  the  other 
contemptuously.  "  Bah,  what  are  threats !  I  laugh  at  them 
• — as  I  always  will."  Then,  with  a  quick  change  of  front, 
his  voice  *  sudden  snarl :  "  Well,  we  have  talked  enough. 


188    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

You  have  your  choice.  The  stones  or — eh?  And  it  is  to 
night — now!  " 

The  old  pawnbroker  sprawled  back  in  his  chair,  a  cunning 
leer  on  his  vicious  face,  a  gleam  of  triumph,  greed,  in  the 
beady,  ratlike  eyes  that  never  wavered  from  the  other. 
Burton,  moisture  oozing  from  his  forehead,  stood  therCv 
hesitant,  staring  back  at  old  Isaac,  half  in  a  fascinated  gaze, 
half  as  though  trying  to  read  some  sign  of  weakness  in  the 
bestial  countenance  that  confronted  him.  And  then,  very 
slowly,  in  an  automatic,  machine-like  way,  his  hand  groped 
into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  vest — and  old  Isaac  cackled  out 
in  derision. 

"  So !  You  thought  you  could  bluff  me,  eh — you  thought 
you  could  fool  old  Isaac !  Bah !  I  read  you  like  a  book  1 
Did  I  not  tell  you  a  while  back  that  you  had  them  in  your 
pocket  ?  I  know  your  kind,  my  young  friend ;  I  know  your 
kind  very  well  indeed — it  is  my  business.  You  would  not 
have  dared  to  come  here  to-night  without  the  price.  Sol 
You  took  them  this  afternoon  as  we  agreed.  Yes,  yes ;  you 
did  well.  You  will  not  regret  it.  And  now  let  me  see 
them  " — his  voice  rose  eagerly — "  let  me  see  them  now,  my 
young  friend." 

"  Yes,  I  took  them."  Burton  spoke  listlessly.  "  God  help 
me!" 

Old  Isaac,  quivering,  excited,  like  a  different  creature 
now,  sprang  from  his  chair,  and,  as  Burton  drew  a  long^ 
fiat,  leather  case  from  his  pocket,  snatched  it  from  the 
other's  hand.  His  fingers  in  their  rapacious  haste  could  not 
at  first  manipulate  the  catch,  and  then  finally,  with  the  case 
open,  he  bent  over  the  table  feverishly.  The  light  reflected 
back  as  from  some  living  mass  of  crimson  fire,  now  shading 
darkly,  now  glowing  into  wondrous,  colourful  transparency 
as  he  moved  the  case  to  and  fro  with  jerky  motions  of  his 
hands — and  he  was  babbling,  crooning  to  himself  like  one 
possessed. 

"Ah,  the  little  beauties!  Ah,  the  pretty  little  things! 
Yes,  yes;  these  are  the  ones!  This  is  the  great  Aracon— 
see.  see,  the  six-sided  prism  terminated  by  the  six-sided 


THE  THIEF  188 

Pyramid.  But  it  must  be  cut — it  must  be  cut  to  sell  it,  eh? 
Ah,  it  is  too  bad — too  bad !  And  this,  this  one  here,  I  know 
them  all,  this  is " 

But  his  sentence  was  never  finished — it  was  Jimmie  Dale, 
on  his  feet  now,  leaning  against  the  jamb  of  the  door,  his 
automatic  covering  the  two  men  at  the  table,  who  spoke. 

"  Quite  so,  Isaac,"  he  said  coolly ;  "  you  know  them  all ! 
Quite  so,  Isaac — but  be  good  enough  to  drop  them !  " 

The  case  fell  from  Isaac's  hand,  the  flush  on  his  cheeks 
died  to  a  sickly  pallor,  and,  his  mouth  half  opfin,  he  stood 
like  a  man  turned  to  stone,  his  hands  with  curved  fingers 
still  outstretched  over  the  table,  over  the  crimson  gems  that, 
spilled  from  the  case,  lay  scattered  now  on  the  tabletop. 
Burton  neither  spoke  nor  moved — a  little  whiter,  the  misery 
in  his  face  almost  apathetic,  he  moistened  his  lips  with  the 
tip  of  his  tongue. 

Jimmie  Dale  walked  across  the  room,  halted  at  the  errtl 
of  the  table,  and  surveyed  the  two  men  grimly.  And  then, 
while  one  hand  with  revolver  extended  rested  easily  on  the 
table,  the  other  gathered  up  the  stones,  placed  them  in  the 
case,  and,  the  case  in  his  pocket,  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  parted 
in  an  uninviting  smile. 

"  I  guess  I'm  in  luck  to-night,  eh,  Isaac  ?  "  he  drawled. 
*  Between  you  and  your  young  friend,  as  I  believe  you  call 
him,  it  woald  appear  as  though  I  had  fallen  on  my  feet. 
That  Aracon's  worth — what  would  you  say? — a  hundred, 
two  hundred  thousand  alone,  eh?  A  very  famous  stone, 
that — had  your  eye  on  it  for  quite  a  time,  Isaac,  you  miser 
able  blood  leech,  eh  ?  " 

Isaac  did  not  answer;  but,  while  he  still  held  back  from 
£he  table,  he  seemed  to  be  regaining  a  little  of  his  compos 
ure — burglars  of  whatever  sort  were  no  novelty  to  him — • 
and  was  staring  fixedly  at  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Can't  place  me — though  there's  not  many  in  the  profes 
sion  you  don't  know?  Is  that  it?"  inquired  Jimmie  Dale 
softly.  "  Well,  don't  try,  Isaac ;  it's  hardly  worth  your 
while.  I've  got  the  stones  now,  and '* 

"  Wait !    Wait !     Listen  3  "     It  was  Burton,  speaking  im 


190    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  first  time,  his  words  coming  in  a  quick,  nervous*  ,-asn. 
"  Listen  !    You  don't— 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  "  cried  old  Isaac,  with  sudden  rierce- 
ness.  "  You  are  a  fool !  "  He  leaned  toward  Jimmie  Dale, 
a  crafty  smile  on  his  face,  quite  in  control  of  himself  once 
more.  "  Don't  listen  to  him — listen  to  me.  You're  right. 
I  can't  place  you,  and  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  " — he 
took  a  step  forward — "  but — 

"  Not  too  close,  Isaac !  "  snapped  Jimmie  DaU  sharply. 
"  I  know  you! 

"  So !  "  ejaculated  old  Isaac,  rubbing  his  handw  together. 
"  So !  That  is  good !  That  is  what  I  want.  Listen,  we  will 
make  a  bargain.  We  are  birds  of  a  feather,  eh  ?  All  thieves, 
eh?  You've  got  the  drop  on  us  who  did  all  the  work,  but 
you'll  give  us  our  share — eh  ?  Listen  !  You  coulcm't  get  rid 
of  those  stones  alone.  You  know  that ;  you're  not  so  green 
at  the  game,  eh?  You'd  have  to  go  to  somt  one.  You 
know  me ;  you  know  old  Isaac,  you  say.  Wei.,  then,  you 
know  there  isn't  another  man  in  New  York  coula  dispose  ol 
those  rubies  and  play  safe  doing  it  except  me.  I'll  make  a 
good  bargain  with  you." 

"  Isaac,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  pensively,  "  you'vr-  niade  a  good 
many  '  good '  bargains.  I  wonder  when  you''!  make  your 
last !  There's  more  than  one  looking  for  '  interest '  on  those 
bargains  in  a  pretty  grim  sort  of  way." 

"  Bah !  "  ejaculated  old  Isaac.  "  It  is  an  ol<T  story.  They 
are  all  alike.  I  am  afraid  of  none  of  them.  I  hold  them  all 
like-  -that! "  His  hand  opened  and  closed  I«ke  a  taloned 
claw. 

"  And  you'd  add  me  to  the  lot,  eh  ?  "  said  Jimmie  Dale. 
He  lifted  the  revolver,  its  muzzle  on  old  Isaac,  examined 
the  mechanism  though  fully,  and  lowered  it  again.  "  Very 
well,  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you — providing  it  is  agreeable 
to  your  young  friend  here." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  old  Isaac  shrilly.  "  So !  That  is  good ! 
It  is  done  then."  He  chuckled  hoarsely.  "  Any  bargain  I 
make  he  will  agree  to.  Is  it  not  so?"  He  fixed  his  eyed 
on  Burton.  "Well,  is  it  not  so?  Speak  up!  Say " 


THE  THIEF  19'J 

He  stopped — the  words  cut  short  off  on  his  lips.  It  came 
without  warning — a  crash,  a  pound  on  the  door  below — an 
other. 

Burton  shrank  back  against  the  wall. 

"  My  God !  The  police !  "  he  gasped.  "  Maddon's  found 
out !  We're — we're  caught !  " 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes,  on  old  Isaac,  narrowed.  The  pound= 
ing  in  the  alleyway  grew  louder,  more  insistent.  And  then 
his  first  suspicion  passed — it  was  no  "  game  "  of  Isaac's. 
Crafty  though  the  old  fox  was,  the  other's  surprise  and 
agitation  was  too  genuine  to  be  questioned. 

Still  the  pounding  continued — some  one  was  kicking  vici 
ously  at  the  door,  and  banging  a  tattoo  on  the  panels  with 
his  fists. 

Old  Isaac's  clawlike  hands  doubled  suddenly. 

"  It  is  some  drunken  sot,"  he  snarled  out,  "  that  knows 
no  better  than  to  come  here  and  rouse  the  whole  neighbour 
hood  !  It  is  true,  in  a  moment  we  will  have  the  police  run 
ning  in  from  the  street.  But  wait — wait — I'll  teach  the  fool 
a  lesson ! "  He  dashed  around  the  table,  ran  for  the  win 
dow,  wrenched  the  catch  up,  flung  the  window  open,  and, 
snarling  again,  leaned  out — and  instantly  the  knocking 
ceased. 

And  instantly  then,  with  a  sharp  cry,  as  the  whole  ghastly 
meaning  of  it  swept  upon  him,  Jimmie  sprang  after  the  other 
• — too  late!  Came  the  roar  of  a  revolver  shot,  a  stream  of 
flame  cutting  the  darkness  of  the  alleyway  from  the  window 
in  the  house  opposite — and,  without  a  sound,  old  Isaac 
crumpled  up,  hung  limply  for  a  moment  over  the  sill,  and  slid 
in  a  heap  to  the  floor. 

On  his  hands  and  knees,  protected  from  the  possibility 
of  another  bullet  by  the  height  of  the  sill,  Jimmie  Dale, 
quick  in  every  movement  now,  dragged  the  inert  form  toward 
the  table  away  from  the  window,  and  bent  hurriedly  over 
the  other.  A  minute  perhaps  he  stayed  there — and  then  rose 
slowly. 

Burton,  horror-stricken,  unmanned,  beside  himself,  wa? 
hanging,  clutching  with  both  hands  at  the  table  edge. 


192    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  He's  dead,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  laconically. 

Burton  flung  out  his  hands. 

"  Dead !  "  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "  I — I  think  I'm  go 
ing  mad.  Three  days  of  hell — and  now  this.  We'd — we'd 
better  get  out  of  here  quick — they'll  get  us  if— 

Jimmie  Dale's  hand  fell  with  a  tight  grip  on  Burton's 
shoulder. 

"  There  won't  be  any  more  shots  fired — pull  yourself  to 
gether  !  " 

Burton  stared  at  him  in  a  demented  way. 

"  What's — what's  it  mean  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  It  means  that  I  didn't  put  two  and  two  togeher,"  said 
Jimmie  Dale  a  little  bitterly.  "  It  means  that  there's  a  dozen 
crooks  been  dancing  old  Isaac's  tune  for  a  long  time — and 
that  some  of  them  have  got  him  at  last." 

Burton  reached  out  suddenly  and  clutched  Jimmie  Dale's 
arm. 

"  Then  I'm  safe !  "  He  mumbled  the  words,  but  there 
was  dawning  hope,  relief  in  his  white  face.  "Safe!  I'm 
safe — if  you'll  only  give  me  back  those  stones.  Give  them 
back  to  me,  for  God's  sake  give  them  back  to  me !  You 
don't  know — you  don't  understand.  I  stole  them  because—" 
because  he  made  me — because  I — it  was  the  only  chance  I 
had.  Oh,  my  God,  you  don't  know  what  the  last  three  days 
have  been!  Give  them  back  to  me,  won't  you — won't  you? 
You — you  don't  know !  " 

"  Don't  lose  your  nerve !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  sharply.  "  Sit 
down !  "  He  pushed  the  other  into  the  chair.  "  There's  no 
one  will  disturb  us  here  for  some  time  at  least.  What  is  it 
that  I  don't  know?  That  three  nights  ago  you  were  in  a 
gambling  hell,  Sago<=to's,  to  be  exact,  one  of  the  most  dis 
reputable  in  New  York — and  you  went  there  on  the  invi 
tation  of  a  stray  acquaintance,  a  man  named  Perley — shall 
I  describe  him  for  you  ?  A  short,  slim-built  man,  black  eyes, 
red  hair,  beard,  and " 

"  You  know  that !  "  The  misery,  the  hopelessness  was 
back  in  Burton's  face  again — and  suddenly  he  bent  over  the 
table  and  buried  his  head  in  his  outflung  arms. 


THE  THIEF  193 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Tight-lipped,  Jir;uii« 
Dale's  eyes  travelled  from  Burton's  shaking  shoulders  to 
the  motionless  form  on  the  floor.  Then  he  spoke  again: 

"  You're  a  bit  of  a  rounder,  Burton,  but  I  think  you've 
had  a  lesson  that  will  last  you  all  your  life.  You  were  half- 
drunk  when  you  and  Perley  began  to  hobnob  over  a  down- 
town  bar.  He  said  he'd  show  you  some  real  life,  ind  you 
went  with  him  to  Sagosto's.  He  gave  you  a  revolver  before 
you  went  in,  and  told  you  the  place  wasn't  safe  for  an  un 
armed  man.  He  introduced  you  to  Sagosto,  the  proprietor, 
and  you  were  shown  to  a  back  room.  You  drank  quite  a 
little  there.  You  and  Perley  were  alone,  throwing  dice. 
You  got  into  a  quarrel.  Perley  tried  to  draw  his  revolver. 
Vou  were  quicker.  You  drew  the  one  he  had  given  you— 
and  fired.  He  fell  to  the  floor — you  saw  the  blood  gush 
.from  his  breast  just  above  the  heart — he  was  dead.  In  a 
panic  you  rushed  from  the  place  and  out  into  the  street.  I 
don't  think  you  went  home  that  night." 

Burton  raised  his  head,  showing  his  haggard  face. 

"  I  guess  it's  no  use,"  he  said  dully.  "  If  you  know, 
others  must.  I  thought  only  Isaac  and  Sagosto  knew.  Why 
haven't  I  been  arrested?  I  wish  to  God  I  had — I  wouldn't 
have  had  to-day  to  answer  for." 

"  I  am  not  through  yet,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  gravely.  "  The 
next  day  old  Isaac  here  sent  for  you.  He  said  Sagosto  had 
told  him  of  the  murder,  and  had  offered  to  dispose  of  the 
corpse  and  keep  his  mouth  shut  for  fifty  thousand  dollars— 
that  no  one  in  his  place  knew  of  it  except  himself.  Isaac, 
for  his  share,  wanted  considerably  more.  You  told  him 
you  had  no  such  sums,  that  you  had  no  money.  He  told  you 
how  you  could  get  it — you  had  access  to  Maddon's  safe,  you 
were  Maddon's  confidential  secretary,  fully  in  your  em 
ployer's  trust,  the  last  man  on  earth  to  be  suspected — and 
there  were  Maddon's  famous,  priceless  rubies." 

Jimmie  Dale  paused.    Burton  made  no  answer. 

"  And  so,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  presently,  "  to  save  your* 
•elf  from  the  death  penalty  you  took  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Burton,  scarcely  above  his  breath.    "  Are  y«fc 


194    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

an  officer?  If  you  are,  take  me,  have  done  with  it!  Onltj 
for  Heaven's  sake  end  it!  If  you're  not " 

Jimmie  Dale  was  not  listening.  "  The  cupboard  at  the 
rear  of  the  room,"  she  had  said.  He  walked  across  to  it 
now,  opened  it,  and,  after  a  little  search,  found  a  small 
bundle.  He  returned  with  it  in  his  hand,  and,  kneeling  be 
side  the  dead  man  on  the  floor,  his  back  to  Burton, 
untied  it,  took  out  a  red  wig  and  beard,  and  slipped  them  on 
to  old  Isaac's  head  and  face. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  grimly,  as  he  stood  up,  "  if  you  ever 
saw  this  man  before?" 

"  My  God — Perley! "  With  a  wild  cry,  Burton  was  on  his 
feet,  straining  forward  like  a  man  crazed. 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  "Perley!  Sort  of  an  ironic 
justice  in  his  end  as  far  as  you  are  concerned,  isn't  there? 
I  think  we'll  leave  him  like  that — as  Perley.  It  will  provide 
the  police  with  an  interesting  little  problem — which  they 
will  never  solve,  and — steady ! " 

Burton  was  rocking  on  his  feet,  the  tears  were  streaming 
down  his  face.  He  lurched  Aeavily — and  Jimmie  Dale 
caught  him,  and  pushed  him  back  into  the  chair  again. 

"  I  thought — I  thought  there  was  blood  on  my  hands," 
said  Burton  brokenly ;  "  that — that  I  had  taken  a  man's  life. 
It  was  horrible,  horrible !  I've  lived  through  three  days  that 
I  thought  would  drive  me  mad,  while  I — I  tried  to  do  my 
work,  and — and  talk  to  people,  Just  as  if  nothing  had  hap 
pened.  And  every  one  that  spoke  to  me  seemed  so  carefree 
and  happy,  and  I  would  have  sold  my  soul  to  have  changed 
places  with  them."  He  stared  at  the  form  on  the  floor,  and 
shivered  suddenly.  "  It — it  was  like  that  I  saw  him  last !  " 
he  whispered.  "  But — but  I  do  not  understand." 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled  a  little  wearily. 

"  It  was  simple  enough,"  he  said.  "  Old  Isaac  had  had 
his  eyes  on  those  rubies  for  a  long  time.  The  easiest  way  of 
getting  them  was  through  you.  The  revolver  he  gave  you 
before  you  entered  Sagosto's  was  loaded  with  blank  car 
tridges,  the  blood  you  saw  was  the  old,  old  trick — a  punc 
tured  bladder  of  red  pigment  concealed  under  the  vest." 


THE  THIEF  195 

"  Let  us  get  out  of  here ! "  Burton  shuddered  again. 
"  Let  us  get  out  of  here — at  once — now.  If  we're  found 
here,  we'll  be  accused  of — that!" 

"  There  is  no  hurry,"  Jimmie  Dale  answered  quietly.  "  I 
have  told  you  that  no  one  is  liable  to  come  here  to-night — 
and  whoever  did  this  certainly  will  not  raise  an  alarm.  And 
besides,  there  is  still  the  matter  of  the  rubies — Burton." 

"  Yes,"  said  Burton,  with  a  quick  intake  of  his  breath. 
"  Yes — the  rubies — what  are  you  going  to  do  with  them  ?  I 

— I  had  forgotten  them.  You'll "  He  stopped,  stared 

at  Jimmie  Dale,  and  burst  into  a  miserable  laugh.  "  I'm  a 
fool,  a  blind  fool !  "  he  moaned.  "  It  does  not  matter  what 
you  do  with  them.  I  forgot  Sagosto.  When  they  find  Isaac 
here,  Sagosto  will  either  tell  his  story,  which  will  be  enough 
to  convict  me  of  this  night's  work,  the  real  murder,  even 
though  I'm  innocent ;  or  else  he'll  blackmail  me  just  as 
Isaac  did." 

Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  doing  Isaac's  cunning  an  injustice,"  he  said 
grimly.  "  Sagosto  was  only  a  tool,  one  of  many  that  old 
Isaac  had  in  his  power — and,  for  that  matter,  as  likely  as  any 
one  else  to  have  had  a  hand  in  Isaac's  murder  to-night. 
Sagosto  saw  you  once  when  Isaac  brought  you  into  his 
place — not  because  Isaac  wanted  Sagosto  to  see  you,  but 
because  he  wanted  you  to  see  Sagosto.  Do  you  understand  ? 
It  would  make  the  story  that  Sagosto  came  to  him  with  the 
tale  of  the  murder  the  next  day  ring  true.  Sagosto,  however, 
did  not  go  to  old  Isaac  the  next  day  to  tell  about  any  fake 
murder — naturally.  Sagosto  would  not  know  you  again 
from  Adam — neither  does  he  know  anything  about  the 
rubies,  nor  what  old  Isaac's  ulterior  motives  were.  He  was 
paid  for  his  ?hare  in  the  game  in  old  Isaac's  usual  manner 
of  payment  probably — by  a  threat  of  exposure  for  some  old- 
time  offence,  that  Isaac  held  over  him,  if  he  didn't  keep  his 
mouth  shut." 

Burton's  hand  brushed  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered.    "  Yes— I  see  it  now." 

Jimmie  Dale  stooped  down,  picked  up  the  paper  from  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

floor  in  which  the  wig  and  beard  had  been  wrapped,  walked 
back  with  it,  and  replaced  it  in  the  cupboard.  And  then, 
with  his  back  to  Burton  again,  he  took  the  case  of  gems 
from  his  pocket,  opened  it,  and  laid  it  on  the  cupboard  shelf. 
Also  from  his  pocket  came  that  thin  metal  case,  and  from  the 
case,  with  a  pair  of  tweezers  that  obviated  the  possibility  of 
telltale  finger  prints,  a  gray,  diamond-shaped  piece  of  paper, 
adhesive  on  one  side  that,  cursed  by  the  distracted  authori 
ties  in  every  police  headquarters  on  both  sides  of  the  At«. 
lantic,  and  raved  at  by  a  virulent  press  whose  printed  re 
productions  had  made  it  familiar  in  every  household  in  the 
land — was  the  insignia  of  the  Gray  Seal.  He  moistened 
the  adhesive  side,  dropped  it  from  the  tweezers  to  his  hand 
kerchief,  and  pressed  it  down  firmly  on  the  inside  of  the 
cover  of  the  jewel  case.  He  put  both  cases  back  in  his  pock 
ets,  and  returned  to  Burton. 

"  Burton,"  he  said  a  little  sharply,  "  while  I  was  outside 
that  doorway  there,  I  heard  you  beg  old  Isaac  to  let  you 
keep  the  rubies,  and  three  times  already  you  have  asked  the 
same  of  me.  What  would  you  do  with  them  if  I  gave  them 
back  to  you?  " 

Burton  did  not  reply  for  a  moment — he  was  gazing  at  the 
masked  face  in  a  half-eager,  half-doubtful  way. 

"  You — you  mean  you  will  give  them  back !  "  he  burst  out 
finally. 

"  Answer  my  question,"  prompted  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Do  with  them  ?  "  Burton  repeated  slowly.  "  Why,  I've 
told  you.  They'd  go  back  to  Mr.  Maddon — I'd  take  them 
back." 

"  Would  you  ?  "     Jimmie  Dale's  voice  was  quizzical. 

A  puzzled  expression  came  to  Burton's  face. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that,"  he  said.  "  Of 
course,  I  would  !  " 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Do  you  know  the  com* 
bination  of  Mr.  Maddon's  safe?" 

"  No,"  said  Burton. 

"  And  the  safe  would  be  locked,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes," 


THE  THIEF  197 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  musingly.  "  Then,  granted 
that  Mr.  Maddon  has  not  already  discovered  the  theft,  how 
would  you  replace  the  stones  before  he  does  discover  it? 
And  if  he  already  knows  that  they  are  gone,  how  would  you 
get  them  back  into  his  hands  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Burton  answered  a  little  listlessly.  "  I've 
thought  of  that.  There's  only  one  way — to  take  them  back 

to  him  myself,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and "    He 

hesitated. 

"  And  tell  him  you  stole  them,"  supplied  Jimmie  Dale. 

Burton  nodded  his  head.    "  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  And  then  ?  "  prodded  Jimmie  Dale.  "  What  will  Mad 
don  do  ?  From  what  I've  heard  of  him,  he's  not  a  man  to 
trifle  with,  nor  a  man  to  take  an  overly  complacent  view  of 
things — not  the  man  whose  philosophy  is  '  all's  well  that 
ends  well.' " 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  Burton's  voice  was  low.  "  It 
isn't  that  so  much.  I'm  ready  for  that.  It's  the  fact  that 
he  trusted  me  implicitly,  and  I — well,  I  played  the  fool,  or 
J'd  never  have  got  into  a  mess  like  this." 

For  an  instant  Jimmie  Dale  looked  at  the  other  search- 
ingly,  and  then,  smiling  strangely,  he  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  a  better  way  than  that,  Burton,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  I  think,  as  I  said  before,  you've  had  a  lesson  to-night  that 
will  last  you  all  your  life.  I'm  going  to  give  you  another 
chance — with  Maddon.  Here  are  the  stones."  He  reached 
hito  his  pocket  and  laid  the  case  on  the  table. 

But  now  Burton  made  no  effort  to  take  the  case — his  eyes, 
in  that  puzzled  way  again,  were  on  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  A  better  way  ?  "  he  repeated  tensely.  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  What  way  ?  " 

"  Well,  say  at  the  expense  of  another  man's  reputation— 
of  mine,"  suggested  Jimmie  Dale,  with  his  whimsical  smile. 
"You  need  only  say  that  a  man  came  to  you  this  evening, 
told  you  that  he  stole  these  rubies  from  Mr.  Maddon  during 
the  afternoon,  and  asked  you,  as  Mr.  Maddon's  private 
Secretary,  to  restore  them  with  his  compliments  to  theif 
f)wner." 


198    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

A  slow  flush  of  disappointment,  deepening  to  one  of  angef 
dyed  Burton's  cheeks. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  make  a  fool  of  me  ?  "  he  cried  out 
"  Go  to  Maddon  with  a  childish  tale  like  that !  There's  nc 
man  living  would  believe  such  a  cock-and-bull  story !  " 

"  No?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale  softly.  "  And  yet  I  am  irt« 
clined  to  think  there  are  a  good  many — that  even  Maddon 
would,  hard-headed  as  he  is.  You  might  say  that  when  the 
man  handed  you  the  case  you  thought  it  was  some  practical 
joke  being  foisted  on  you,  until  you  opened  the  case  "-—Jim 
mie  Dale  pushed  it  a  little  farther  across  the  table,  and  Bur 
ton,  mechanically,  his  eyes  still  on  Jimme  Dale,  loosened  the 
catch  with  his  thumb  nail — "  until  you  opened  the  case,  saw 
the  rubies,  and " 

"  The  Gray  Seal !  "  Burton  had  snatched  the  case  toward 
him,  and  was  straining  his  eyes  at  the  inside  cover.  "  You—* 
the  Gray  Seal !  " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  whimsically. 

Motionless,  the  case  held  open  in  his  hands.  Burton  stood 
there. 

"  The  Gray  Seal !  "  he  whispered.  Then,  with  a  catch  in 
his  voice  :  "  You  mean  this  ?  You  mean  to  let  me  have  these 
back — you  mean — you  mean  all  you've  said?  For  God's 
sake,  don't  play  with  me — the  Gray  Seal,  the  most  notori 
ous  criminal  in  the  country,  to  give  back  a  fortune  like  this ! 
You — you " 

"  Dog  with  a  bad  name,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  wry 
smile ;  then,  a  little  gruffly :  "  Put  it  in  your  pocket !  " 

Slowly,  almost  as  though  he  expected  the  case  to  be 
snatched  back  from  him  the  next  instant,  Burton  obeyed. 

"  I  don't  understand — I  can't  understand !  "  he  murmured. 
"  They  say  that  you — and  yet  I  believe  you  now — you've 
saved  me  from  a  ruined  life  to-night.  The  Gray  Seal !  If — • 
if  every  one  knew  what  you  had  done,  they " 

"  But  every  one  won't,"  Jimmie  Dale  broke  in  bluntly 
"  Who  is  to  tell  them  ?  You  ?  You  couldn't  very  well, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it — could  you?  Well,  who 
knows,  perhaps  there  have  been  others  like  you ! " 


THE  THIEF  199 

"  You  mean,"  said  Burton  excitedly,  "  you  mean  that  all 
these  crimes  of  yours  that  have  seemed  without  motive,  that 

have  been  so  inexplicable,  have  really  been  like  to-night 
. » 

"  I  don't  mean  anything  at  all,"  interposed  Jimmie  Dale 
a  little  hurriedly.  "  Nothing,  Burton — except  that  there  is 
still  one  little  thing  more  to  do  to  bolster  up  that  '  childish  * 
story  of  mine — and  then  get  out  of  here."  He  glanced 
sharply,  critically  around  the  room,  his  eyes  resting  for  a 
moment  at  the  last  on  the  form  on  the  floor.  Then  tersely : 
"  I  am  going  to  turn  out  the  light — we  will  have  to  pass  the 
window  to  get  to  the  door,  and  we  will  invite  no  chances. 
Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  yet,"  said  Burton  eagerly.  "  I  haven't  said  what 
I'd  like  to  say  to  you,  what  I " 

"  Walk  straight  to  the  door,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  curtly. 
There  was  the  click  of  an  electric-light  switch,  and  the  room 
was  in  darkness.  "  Now,  no  noise !  "  he  instructed. 

And  Burton,  perforce,  made  his  way  across  the  roonv~ 
and  at  the  door  Jimmie  Dale  joined  him  and  led  him  down 
the  short  flight  of  stairs.  At  the  bottom,  he  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the  rear  of  the  pawnshop  itself,  and,  bidding 
Burton  follow,  entered. 

"  We  can't  risk  even  a  match ;  it  could  be  seen  from  the 
street,"  he  said  brusquely,  as  he  fumbled  around  for  a  mo 
ment  in  the  darkness.  "  Ah — here  it  is !  "  He  lifted  a 
telephone  receiver  from  its  hook,  and  gave  a  number. 

Burton  caught  him  quickly  by  the  arm. 

"Good  Lord,  man,  what  are  you  doing?"  he  protested 
anxiously.  "  That's  Mr.  Maddon's  house !  " 

"  So  I  believe,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  complacently.  "  Hello ! 
Is  Mr.  Maddon  there?  .  .  .  I  beg  pardon?  .  .  .  Per 
sonally,  yes,  if  you  please." 

There  was  a  moment's  wait.  Burton's  hand  was  still 
nervously  clutching  at  Jimmie  Dale's  sleeve.  Then : 

"  Mr.  Maddon  ?  "  asked  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly.  "  Yes  ? 
»  .  .  I  am  very  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  I  called  you  up 
to  inquire  if  you  were  aware  that  your  rubies,  and  among 


200    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

them  your  Aracon,  had  been  stolen  ?  .  .  .  I  beg  pardon  $ 
.  .  .  Rubies — yes.  .  .  .  You  weren't.  .  .  .  Oh,  no, 
I  am  quite  in  my  right  mind ;  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to 
open  your  safe  you  will  find  they  are  gone — shall  I  hold  the 
line  while  you  investigate?  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  Don't 
shout,  please — and  stand  a  little  farther  away  from  the 
mouthpiece."  Jimmie  Dale's  tone  was  one  of  insolent  com 
posure  now.  "  There  is  really  no  use  in  getting  excited. 
...  I  beg  pardon  ?  .  .  .  Certainly,  this  is  the  Gray  Seal 
speaking.  .  .  .  What  ?  "  Jimmie  Dale's  voice  grew  plain 
tive-  "  I  really  can't  make  out  a  word  when  you  yell  lik* 
that.  .  .  .  Yes.  ...  I  had  occasion  to  use  them  this 
afternoon,  and  I  took  the  liberty  of  borrowing  them  tempo 
rarily — are  you  still  there,  Mr.  Maddon?  .  .  .  Oh,  quite 
so !  Yes,  I  hear  you  now.  .  .  .  No,  that  is  all,  only  I  an* 
returning  them  through  your  private  secretary,  a  very  esti 
mable  young  man,  though  I  fear  somewhat  excitable  and 
shaky,  who  is  on  his  way  to  you  with  them  now.  .  .  „ 
What's  that  you  say?  You  repeat  that/'  snapped  Jimmie 
Dale  suddenly,  icily,  "  and  I'll  take  them  from  under  your 
nose  again  before  morning !  .  .  .  Ah !  That  is  better  t 
Good-night—Mr.  Maddon." 

Jimmie  Dale  hung  up  the  receiver  and  shoved  Burton 
toward  the  door. 

"  Now  then,  Burton,  we'll  get  out  of  here — and  the  sooner 
you  reach  Fifth  Avenue  and  Mr.  Maddon's  house  the  better. 
No ;  not  that  way !  "  They  had  reached  the  hall,  and  Bur 
ton  had  turned  toward  the  side  door  that  opened  on  the 
alleyway.  "  Whoever  they  were  who  settled  their  last  ac 
count  with  Isaac  may  still  be  watching.  They've  nothing 
against  any  one  else,  but  they  know  some  one  was  in  here 
at  the  time,  and,  if  the  police  are  clever  enough  ever  to  get 
on  their  track,  they  might  find  it  very  convenient  to  be  able  to 
say  who  was  in  the  room  when  Isaac  was  murdered — there's 
nothing  to  show,  since  Isaac  so  obligingly  opened  the  win 
dow  for  them,  that  the  shot  was  fired  through  the  window 
and  not  from  the  inside  of  the  room.  And  even  if  they 
hive  already  taken  to  their  heels " — Jimmie  Dale  wa§ 


THE  THIEF  201 

leading  Burton  up  the  stairs  again  as  he  talked — "  it  might 
prove  exceedingly  inconvenient  for  us  if  some  passer-by 
should  happen  to  recollect  that  he  saw  two  men  of  our  gen 
eral  appearance  leaving  the  premises.  Now  keep  close — and 
follow  me." 

They  passed  the  door  of  Isaac's  den,  turned  down  a  nar 
row  corridor  that  led  to  the  rear  of  the  house — Jimrriie 
Dale  guiding  unerringly,  working  from  the  mental  map  of 
the  house  that  the  Tocsin  had  drawn  for  him — descended  an 
other  short  flight  of  stairs  that  gave  on  the  kitchen,  crossed 
the  kitchen,  and  Jimmie  Dale  opened  a  back  door.  He 
paused  here  for  a  moment  to  listen ;  then,  cautioning  Burton 
to  be  silent,  moved  on  again  across  a  small  back  yard  and 
through  a  gate  into  a  lane  that  ran  at  right  angles  to  the 
alleyway  by  which  both  had  entered  the  house — and,  a  min 
ute  later,  they  were  crouched  against  a  building,  a  hall 
Mock  away,  where  the  lane  intersected  the  cross  street. 

Here  Jimmie  Dale  peered  out  cautiously.  There  was  no 
one  in  sight.  He  touched  Burton's  shoulder,  and  pointed 
down  the  street. 

"  That's  your  way,  Burton — mine's  the  other.  Hurr/ 
while  you've  got  the  chance.  Good-night." 

Burton's  hand  reached  out,  caught  Jimmie  Dale's,  and 
wrung  it. 

"  God  bless  you ! "  he  said  huskily.    "  I " 

And  Jimmie  Dale  pushed  him  out  on  to  the  street. 

Burton's  steps  receded  down  the  sidewalk.  Jimmie  Dale 
still  crouched  against  the  wall.  The  steps  grew  fainter  ip 
the  distance  and  die  1  finally  away.  Jimmie  Dale  straight' 
ened  up,  slipped  the  mask  from  his  face  to  his  pocket, 
stepped  out  on  the  street — and  five  minutes  later  was  pass 
ing  through  the  noisy  bedlam  of  the  Hungarian  restau 
rant  on  his  way  to  the  front  door  and  his  car. 

"  Sonnez  le  Tocsin,"  Jimmie  Dale  was  saying  softly  to 
himself.  "  I  wonder  what  she'll  do  when  she  finds  I've  got 
the  ring?" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THF   MAN    HIGHER   UP 

HE  Tocsin !  By  neither  act,  sign,  nor  word  had  sr*. 
evidenced  the  slightest  interest  in  that  ring — and  yw 
she  must  know,  she  certainly  must  know  that  it  was  now  w 
his  possession.  Jimmie  Dale  was  disappointed.  Somehowf 
he  had  counted  more  than  he  had  cared  to  admit  on  develop 
ments  from  that  ring. 

He  pulled  a  little  viciously  at  his  cigarette,  as  he  stared 
out  of  the  St.  James  Club  window.  That  was  how  long  ago? 
Ten  days  ?  Yes ;  this  would  be  the  eleventh.  Eleven  days 
now  and  no  word  from  her — eleven  days  since  that  night  at 
old  Isaac's,  since  she  had  last  called  him,  the  Gray  Seal,  to 
arms.  It  was  a  long  while — so  long  a  while  even  that  what 
had  come  to  be  his  prerogative  in  the  newspapers,  the  front 
page  with  three-inch  type  recounting  some  new  exploit  ot 
that  mysterious  criminal  the  Gray  Seal,  was  being  usurped. 
The  papers  were  howling  now  about  what  they,  for  the  lack 
of  a  better  term,  were  pleased  to  call  a  wave  of  crime  that 
had  inundated  New  York,  and  of  which,  for  once,  the  Gray 
Seal  was  not  the  storm  centre,  but  rather,  for  the  moment, 
forgotten. 

He  drew  back  from  the  window,  and,  settling  himself 
again  in  the  big  leather  lounging  chair,  resumed  the  perusal 
of  the  evening  paper.  His  eye  fell  on  what  was  common  to 
every  edition  now,  a  crime  editorial — and  the  paper  crackled 
suddenly  under  the  long,  slim,  tapering  ringers,  so  care 
fully  nurtured,  whose  sensitive  tips  a  hundred  times  had 
made  mockery  of  the  human  ingenuity  squandered  on  the 
intricate  mechanism  of  safes  and  vaults.  No;  he  was 
wrong — the  Gray  Seal  had  not  been  forgotten. 

*  We  should  not  be  surprised,"  wrote  the  editor  viry* 

202 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  203 

lently,  "  to  discover  at  the  bottom  of  these  abominable  at- 
trocities  that  the  guiding  spirit,  in  fact,  was  the  Gray  Seal— 
they  are  quite  worthy  even  of  his  diabolical  disregard  for  the 
laws  of  God  and  man." 

Jimmie  Dale's  lips  straightened  ominously,  and  an  angry 
glint  crept  into  his  dark,  steady  eyes.  There  was  nothing 
then,  nothing  too  vile  that,  in  the  public's  eyes,  could  not 
logically  be  associated  with  the  Gray  Seal — even  this!  A 
series  of  the  most  cold-blooded,  callous  murders  and  rob 
beries,  the  work,  on  the  face  of  it,  of  a  well-organized  band 
of  thugs,  brutal,  insensate,  little  better  than  fiends,  though 
clever  enough  so  far  to  have  evaded  capture,  clever  enough, 
indeed,  to  have  kept  the  police  still  staggering  and  gasping 
after  a  clew  for  one  murder — while  another  was  in  the  very 
act  of  being  committed !  The  Gray  Seal !  What  exquisite 
irony!  And  yet,  after  all,  the  papers  were  not  wholly  to 
blame  for  what  they  said ;  he  had  invited  much  of  it.  Seem 
ing  crimes  of  the  Gray  Seal  had  apparently  been  genuine 
beyond  any  question  of  doubt,  as  he  had  intended  them  to 
appear,  as  in  the  very  essence  of  their  purpose  they  had  to 
be. 

"  Yes ;  he  had  invited  much — he  and  she  together — the 
Tocsin  and  himself.  He,  Jimmie  Dale,  millionaire,  club 
man,  whose  name  for  generations  in  New  York  had  been 
the  family  pride,  was  "  wanted  "  as  the  Gray  Seal  for  so 
many  "  crimes  "  that  he  had  lost  track  of  them  himself — « 
but  from  any  one  of  which,  let  the  identity  of  the  Gray  Seal 
be  once  solved,  there  was  and  could  be  no  escape!  What 
exquisite  irony — yet  full,  too,  of  the  most  deadly  con 
sequences  ! 

Once  more  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  sought  the  paper,  and  this 
time  scanned  the  headlines  of  the  first  page : 

BRUTAL  MURDER  OF  MILL  PAYMASTER 

THE  CRIME  WAVE  STILL  AT  ITS  HEIGHT. 

HERMAN  ROESSLE  FOUND  DEAD  NEAR  His  CAB* 

ASSASSINS  ESCAPE  WITH  $20,000. 


204    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Jimmie  Dale  read  on — and  as  he  read  there  came  again 
that  angry  set  to  his  lips.  The  details  were  not  pleasant. 
Herman  Roessle,  the  paymaster  of  the  Martindale-Kensing- 
ton  Mills,  whose  plant  was  on  the  Hudson,  had  gone  that 
morning  in  his  runabout  to  the  nearest  town,  three  miles 
away,  for  the  monthly  pay  roll ;  had  secured  the  money 
from  the  bank,  a  sum  of  twenty-odd  thousand  dollars;  and 
had  started  back  with  it  for  the  mill.  At  first,  it  being 
broad  daylight  and  a  well-frequented  road,  his  nonappear- 
ance  caused  no  apprehension ;  but  as  early  afternoon  came 
and  there  was  still  no  sign  of  Roessle  the  mill  management 
took  alarm.  Discovering  that  he  had  left  the  bank  for  the 
return  journey  at  a  few  minutes  before  eleven,  and  that  noth 
ing  had  been  seen  of  him  at  his  home,  the  police  were  noti 
fied.  Followed  then  several  hours  of  fruitless  search,  un 
til  finally,  with  the  whole  countryside  aroused  and  the  efforts 
of  the  police  augumented  by  private  search  parties,  the  car 
was  found  in  a  thicket  at  the  edge  of  a  crossroad  some  four 
miles  back  from  the  river,  and,  a  little  way  from  the  car, 
the  body  of  Roessle,  dead,  the  man's  head  crushed  in  where 
it  had  been  fiendishly  battered  by  some  blunt,  heavy  object. 
There  was  no  clew — no  one  could  be  found  who  had  seen 
the  car  on  the  crossroad — the  murderer,  or  murderers,  and 
the  twenty-odd  thousand  dollars  in  cash  had  disappeared 
leaving  no  trace  behind. 

There  were  several  columns  of  this,  which  Jimmie  Dale 
skimmed  through  quickly ;  but  at  the  end  he  stared  for  a 
long  time  at  the  last  paragraph.  Somehow,  strange,  to  re 
late,  the  paper  had  neglected  to  turn  its  "  sob  "  artist  loose, 
and  the  few  words,  added  almost  as  though  they  were  an 
afterthought,  for  once  rang  true  and  full  of  pathos  in  their 
very  simplicity — at  the  Roessle  home,  where  Mrs.  Roessle 
was  prostrated,  two  little  tots  of  five  and  seven,  too  young 
to  understand,  had  gravely  received  the  reporter  and  told 
him  that  some  bad  man  had  hurt  their  daddy. 

"Mr.  Dale,  sir!" 

Jimmie  Dale  lowered  his  paper.  A  club  attendant  was 
standing  before  him,  respectfully  extending  a  silver  care? 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  205 

tray.  From  the  man,  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  fixed  on  a  white 
envelope  on  the  tray.  One  glance  was  enough — it  was  hers, 
that  letter.  The  Tocsin  again !  His  brain  seemed  suddenly 
to  be  afire,  and  he  could  feel  his  pulse  quicken,  the  blood 
begin  to  pound  in  fierce  throbs  at  his  heart.  Life  and  death 
lay  in  that  white,  innocent-looking,  unaddressed  envelope^ 
danger,  peril — it  was  always  life  and  death,  for  those  were 
the  stakes  for  which  the  Tocsin  played.  But,  master  of 
many  things,  Jimmie  Dale  was  most  of  all  master  of  himself. 
Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved.  He  reached  nonchalantly 
for  the  letter. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jimmie  Dale. 

The  man  bowed  and  started  away.  Jimmie  Dale  laid  the 
envelope  on  the  arm  of  the  lounging  chair.  The  man  had 
reached  the  door  when  Jimmie  Dale  stopped  him. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  languidly,  "  where 
<lid  this  come  from  ?  " 

"  Your  chauffeur,  sir,"  replied  the  other.  "  Your  chauffeui 
gpve  it  to  the  hall  porter  a  moment  ago,  sir." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  again. 

The  door  closed. 

Jimmie  Dale  glanced  around  the  room.  It  was  the  can* 
tion  of  habit,  that  glance ;  the  habit  of  years  in  which  his  life 
had  hung  on  little  things.  He  was  alone  in  one  of  the  club's 
private  library  rooms.  He  picked  up  the  envelope,  tore  it 
open,  took  out  the  folded  sheets  inside,  and  began  to  read. 
At  the  first  words  he  leaned  forward,  suddenly  tense  in  his 
chair.  He  read  on,  turning  the  pages  hurriedly,  incredu 
lity,  amazement,  and,  finally,  a  strange  menace  mirroring  it 
self  in  turn  upon  his  face. 

He  stood  up — the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  My  God !  "  whispered  Jimmie  Dale. 

It  was  a  call  to  arms  such  as  the  Gray  Seal  had  nevef 
received  before — such  as  the  Tocsin  had  never  made  before. 

And  if  it  were  true  it True !  He  laughed  aloud  a  little 

gratingly.  True!  Had  the  Tocsin,  astounding,  unbeliev- 
fsble,  mystifying  as  were  the  means  by  which  she  acquired 
fter  knowledge  not  only  of  this,  but  of  countless  other  af» 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

fairs,  ever  by  so  much  as  the  smallest  detail  been  astray !    It 
it  were  true ! 

He  pulled  out  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  nine.  Benson, 
his  chauffeur,  had  sent  the  letter  into  the  club.  Benson  had 
been  waiting  outside  there  ever  since  dinner.  Jimmie  Dale, 
for  the  first  time  since  the  first  communication  that  he  had 
*ver  received  from  the  Tocsin,  did  not  immediately  destroy 
Jier  letter  now.  He  slipped  it  into  his  pocket — and  stepped 
quickly  from  the  room. 

In  the  cloakroom  downstairs  he  secured  his  hat  and  over 
coat,  and,  though  it  was  a  warm  evening,  put  on  the  latter 
since  he  was  in  evening  clothes,  then  walked  leisurely  out  of 
the  club. 

At  the  curb,  Benson,  the  chauffeur,  sprang  from  his  seat, 
and,  touching  his  cap,  opened  the  door  of  a  luxurious  lim 
ousine. 

Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head. 

"  I  shall  not  keep  you  waiting  any  longer,  Benson,"  he 
said.  "  You  may  take  the  car  home,  and  put  it  up.  I  shall 
probably  be  late  to-night." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  replied  the  chauffeur. 

"  You  sent  in  a  letter  a  moment  or  so  age,  Benson  ?  "  ob 
served  Jimmie  Dale  casually,  opening  his  cigarette  case. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Benson.  "  I  hope  I  didn't  do  wrong,  sir. 
He  said  it  was  important,  and  that  you  were  to  have  it  at 
once." 

"  He  ?  "    Jimmie  Dale  was  lighting  his  cigarette  now. 

"  A  boy,  sir,"  Benson  amplified.  "  I  couldn't  get  anything 
out  of  him.  He  just  said  he'd  been  told  to  give  it  to  me, 
and  tell  me  to  see  that  you  got  it  at  once.  I  hope,  sir,  I 
haven't " 

"  Not  at  all,  Benson,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly.  "  It's 
quite  all  risrht.  Good -night,  Benson." 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  Benson  answered,  climbing  back  to  his 
seat. 

There  was  a  queer  little  smile  on  Jimmie  Dale's  lips,  as  he 
watched  the  great  car  swing  around  in  the  street  and  glide 
noiselessly  away — a  queer  little  smile  that  still  held  there 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  20t 

after  he  himself  had  started  briskly  along  the  avenue 
in  a  downtown  direction.  It  was  invariably  the  same,  al 
ways  the  same — the  letters  came  unexpectedly,  when  least 
looked  for,  now  by  this  means,  now  by  that,  but  always  in  a 
manner  that  precluded  the  slightest  possibility  of  tracing 
them  to  their  source.  Was  there  anything,  in  his  intimate 
surroundings,  in  his  intimate  life,  that  she  did  not  know 
about  him — who  knew  absolutely  nothing  about  her !  Benson^ 
for  instance — that  the  man  was  absolutely  trustworthy— 
or  else  she  would  never  for  an  instant  have  risked  the  letter 
in  his  possession.  Was  there  anything  that  she  did  not— < 
yes,  one  thing — she  did  not  know  him  in  the  role  he  was 
going  to  play  to-night.  That  at  least  was  one  thing  that 
surely  she  did  not  know  about  him ;  the  role  in  which,  many 
times,  for  weeks  on  end,  he  had  devoted  himself  body  and 
soul  in  an  attempt  to  solve  the  mystery  with  which  she  sur 
rounded  herself ;  the  role,  too,  that  often  enough  had  been 
a  bulwark  of  safety  to  him  when  hard  pressed  by  the  police; 
the  role  out  of  which  he  had  so  carefully,  so  painstakingly 
created  a  now  recognised  and  well-known  character  of  the 
anderworld — the  role  of  Larry  the  Bat 

Jimmie  Dale  turned  from  Fifth  Avenue  into  Broadway, 
continued  on  down  Broadway,  across  to  the  Bowery,  kepi: 
along  the  Bowery  for  several  more  blocks — and  finally 
headed  east  into  the  dimly  lighted  cross  street  on  which  the 
Sanctuary  was  located. 

And  now  Jimmie  Dale  became  cautious  in  his  movements. 
As  he  approached  the  black  alleyway  that  flanked  the  miser 
able  tenement,  he  glanced  sharply  behind  and  about  him; 
and,  at  the  alleyway  itself,  without  pause,  but  with  a  curious 
lightning-like  side  step,  no  longer  Jimmie  Dale  now,  but 
the  Gray  Seal,  he  disappeared  from  the  street,  and  was  lost 
in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  building. 

In  a  moment  he  was  at  the  side  door,  listening  for  any 
sound  from  within — none  had  ever  seen  or  met  the  lodger  on 
the  first  floor  either  ascending  or  descending,  except  in  the 
familiar  character  of  Larry  the  Bat.  Ke  opened  the  door, 
it  behind  him,  and  in  the  utter  blackness  went  noisa. 


208    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

lessly  up  the  stairs — stairs  so  rickety  that  it  seemed  a  mouse'"* 
tread  alone  would  have  set  them  creaking.  There  seemed 
an  art  in  the  play  of  Jimmie  Dale's  every  muscle ;  in  the 
movements,  lithe,  balanced,  quick,  absolutely  silent.  On  the 
first  landing  he  stopped  before  another  door,  there  was  the 
faint  click  of  a  key  turning  in  the  lock ;  and  then  this  door, 
too,  closed  behind  him.  Sounded  the  faint  click  of  the  key 
as  it  turned  again,  and  Jimmie  Dale  drew  a  long  breath, 
stepped  across  the  room  to  assure  himself  that  the  window 
blind  was  down,  and  lighted  the  gas  jet. 

A  yellow,  murky  flame  spurted  up,  pitifully  weak,  almost 
as  though  it  were  ashamed  of  its  disreputable  surround 
ings.  Dirt,  disorder,  squalour,  the  evidence  of  low  living 
testified  eloquently  enough  to  any  one,  the  police,  for  in 
stance,  in  times  past  inquisitive  until  they  were  fatuously 
content  with  the  belief  that  they  knew  the  occupant  for 
what  he  was,  that  the  place  was  quite  in  keeping  with  its 
tenant,  a  mute  prototype,  as  it  were,  of  Larry  the  Bat,  the 
dope  fiend. 

For  a  little  space,  Jimmie  Dale,  immaculate  in  his  even 
ing  clothes,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  miserable  room,  his 
dark  eyes,  keen,  alert,  critical,  sweeping  comprehensively 
over  every  object  about  him — the  position  of  a  chair,  of  a 
cracked  drinking  glass  on  the  broken -legged  table,  of  an 
old  coat  thrown  with  apparent  carelessness  on  the  floor  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  of  a  broken  bottle  that  had  innocent «.v 
strewn  some  sort  of  white  powder  close  to  the  threshold, 
inviting  unwary  foot  tracks  across  the  floor.  And  then, 
taking  out  the  Tocsin's  letter,  he  laid  it  upon  the  table, 
placed  what  money  he  had  in  his  pockets  beside  it,  and  began 
rapidly  to  remove  his  clothes.  The  Sanctuary  had  not  been 
invaded  since  his  last  visit  there. 

He  turned  back  the  oilcloth  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room, 
took  up  the  piece  of  loose  flooring,  which,  however,  strangely 
enough,  fitted  so  closely  as  to  give  no  sign  of  its  existence 
even  should  it  inadvertently,  by  some  curious  visitor  again*, 
be  trod  upon ;  and  from  the  aperture  beneath  lifted  out  * 
bundle  of  clothes  and  a  small  box. 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  209 

Undressed  now,  he  carefully  folded  the  clothes  he  had 
iaken  off,  laid  them  under  the  flooring,  and  began  to  dress 
again,  his  wardrobe  supplied  by  the  bundle  he  had  taken 
out  in  exchange — an  old  pair  of  shoes,  the  laces  broken; 
mismated  socks;  patched  trousers,  frayed  at  the  bottoms; 
a  soiled  shirt,  collarless,  open  at  the  neck.  Attired  to  his 
satisfaction,  he  placed  the  box  upon  the  table,  propped  up 
a  cracked  mirror,  sat  down  in  front  of  it,  and,  with  a  deft, 
artist's  touch,  began  to  apply  stain  to  his  hands,  wrists, 
neck,  throat,  and  face — but  the  hardness,  the  grim  menace 
that  now  grew  into  the  dominant  characteristic  of  his  fea 
tures  was  not  due  to  the  stain  alone. 

"  Dear  Philanthropic  Crook  " — his  eyes  were  on  the  Toc 
sin's  letter  that  lay  before  him.  He  read  on — for  once, 
even  to  Jimmie  Dale's  keen,  facile  mind,  a  first  reading  had 
failed  to  convey  the  full  significance  of  what  she  had  writ 
ten.  It  was  too  amazing,  almost  beyond  belief — the  series 
of  crimes,  rampant  for  the  past  few  weeks,  at  which  the 
community  had  stood  aghast,  the  brutal  murder  of  Roessle 
but  a  few  hours  old,  lay  bare  before  his  eyes.  It  was  all 
there,  all  of  it,  the  details,  the  hellish  cleverness,  the  per 
sonnel  even  of  the  thugs,  all,  everything — except  the  proof, 

"  Get  him,  Jimmie — the  man  higher  up.  Get  him,  Jim 
mie — before  another  pays  forfeit  with  his  life  " — the  words 
seemed  to  leap  out  at  him  from  the  white  page  in  red,  danc 
ing  lines — "  Get  him — Jimmie — the  man  higher  up." 

Jimmie  Dale  finished  the  second  reading  of  the  letter, 
read  it  again  for  the  third  time,  then  tore  it  into  tiny  frag-- 
meats.  His  fingers  delved  into  the  box  again,  and  the  trans 
formation  of  Jimmie  Dale,  member  of  New  York's  most 
exclusive  social  set,  into  a  low,  vicious-featured  denizen  of 
the  underworld  went  on — a  little  wax  applied  skilfully  be 
hind  the  ears,  in  the  nostrils  and  under  the  upper  lip. 

It  was  all  there — all  except  the  proof.  And  the  proof— 
he  laughed  aloud  suddenly,  unpleasantly.  There  seemed 
something  sardonic  in  it ;  ay,  more  than  that,  all  that  was 
grim  in  irony.  The  proof,  in  Stangeist's  own  writing,  sworn 
to  before  witnesses  in  the  presence  of  a  notary,  the  text  ot 


210    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  document,  of  course,  unknown  to  both  witnesses  and 
notary,  evidence,  absolute  and  final,  that  would  be  admitted 
in  any  court,  for  Stangeist  was  a  lawyer,  and  would  see  to 
that,  was  in  Stangeist's  own  safe,  for  Stangeist's  own  pro 
tection — Stangeist,  who  was  himself  the  head  and  brains 
of  this  murder  gang — Stangeist,  who  was  the  man  higher 
up! 

It  was  amazing,  without  parallel  in  the  history  of  crime 
— and  yet  ingenious,  clever,  full  of  the  craft  and  cunning 
that  had  built  up  the  shyster  lawyer's  reputation  below  the 
dead  line. 

Jimmie  Dale's  lips  were  curiously  thin  now.  So  it  was 
Stangeist!  A  Doctor  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde  with  a  ven 
geance  !  He  knew  Stangeist — not  personally  ;  not  by  the  rep 
utation  Stangeist  held,  low  even  as  that  was,  among  his 
brother  members  of  the  profession ;  but  as  the  man  was 
known  for  what  he  really  was  among  the  crooks  and  crim 
inals  of  the  underworld,  where,  in  that  strange  underground 
exchange,  whispered  confidences  passed  between  those  whose 
common  enemy  was  the  law,  where  Larry  the  Bat  himself 
was  trusted  in  the  innermost  circles. 

Stangeist  was  a  power  in  the  Bad  Lands.  There  were 
few  among  that  unholy  community  that  Stangeist,  at  one 
time  or  another,  in  one  way  or  another,  had  not  rescued 
from  the  clutches  of  the  law,  resorting  to  any  trick  or  cun 
ning,  but  with  perjury,  that  he  could  handle  like  the  master 
of  it  that  he  was,  employed  as  the  most  common  weapon  of 
defence  for  his  clients — provided  he  were  paid  well  enough 
for  it.  The  man  had  become  more  than  the  attorney  for 
Jie  crime  world — he  had  become  part  of  it.  Cunning, 
shrewd,  crafty,  conscienceless,  cold-blooded — that  was  Stan 
geist. 

The  form  and  features  of  the  man  pictured  themselves 
in  Jimmie  Dale's  mind — the  six-foot  muscular  frame,  that 
was  invariably  clothed  in  attire  of  the  most  fashionable  cut ; 
the  thin  lips  with  their  oily,  plausible  smile,  the  straight 
black  hair  that  straggled  into  pin  point,  little  black  eyes, 
the  dark  face  w'th  its  high  cheek  bones,  which,  with  the  pro 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  211 

nouncea  aquiline  nose  and  the  persistent  rumour  that  he  was 
a  quarter  caste,  had  led  the  underworld,  prejudiced  always 
in  favour  of  a  "  monaker,"  to  dub  the  man  the  "  Indian 
Chief." 

Jimmie  Dale  laughed  again — still  unpleasantly.  So  Stan- 
geist  had  taken  the  plunge  at  last  and  branched  out  into  ^ 
wider  field,  had  he?  Well,  there  was  nothing  surprising  m 
that — except  that  he  had  not  done  it  before !  The  irony 
of  it  lay  in  the  fact  that  at  last  he  had  been  too  clever, 
overstepped  himself  in  his  own  cleverness,  that  wras  all. 
It  was  Australian  Ike,  The  Mope,  and  Clarie  Deane  that 
Stangeist  had  gathered  aiound  him,  the  Tocsin  had  said— 
and  there  were  none  worse  in  Larry  the  Bat's  wide  range  of 
acquaintanceship  than  those  three.  Stangeist  had  made  him 
self  master  of  Australian  Ike,  The  Mope,  and  Clarie  Deane — • 
and  he  had  driven  them  a  little  too  hard  on  the  division  of  the 
spoils — and  laughed  at  them,  and  cracked  the  whip  much 
after  the  fashion  that  the  trainer  in  the  cage  handles  the 
growling  beasts  around  him. 

A  dozen  of  the  crimes  that  had  appalled  and  staggered 
New  York  they  had  committed  under  his  leadership ;  and 
then,  it  seemed,  they  had  quarrelled  furiously,  the  three 
pitted  against  Stangeist,  threatening  him,  demanding  a  more 
equitable  share  of  the  proceeds.  None  was  better  aware 
than  Stangeist  that  threats  from  men  of  their  calibre  were 
(ikely  to  result  in  a  grim  aftermath — and  Stangeist,  yester 
day,  the  Tocsin  said,  had  answered  them  as  no  other  man 
than  Stangeist  would  either  have  thought  of  or  have  dared 
to  do.  One  by  one,  at  separate  times,  covering  the  other 
with  a  revolver,  Stangeist  had  permitted  them  to  read  a 
document  that  was  addressed  to  the  district  attorney.  It 
was  a  confession,  complete  in  every  detail,  of  every  crime 
the  four  together  had  committed,  implicating  Stangeist  as 
fully  and  unreservedly  as  it  did  the  other  three.  It  required 
no  commentary !  If  anything  happened  to  Stangeist,  a  stab 
in  the  dark,  for  instance,  a  bullet  from  some  dark  alleyway, 
a  blackjack  deftly  wielded,  as  only  Australian  Ike,  The 
Mope  or  Clarie  Deane  knew  how  to  wield  it — the  document 


212    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

automatically  became  a  death  sentence  for  Australian  Ike 
The  Mope,  and  Clarie  Deane ! 

It  was  very  simple — and,  evidently,  it  had  been  effective, 
as  witness  the  renewal  of  their  operations  in  the  murder  of 
Roessle  that  afternoon.  Fear  and  avarice  had  both  prob 
ably  played  their  part ;  fear  of  the  man  who  would  with  such 
consummate  nerve  fling  his  life  into  the  balance  to  turn  the 
tables  upon  them,  while  he  jeered  at  them ;  avarice  that 
prompted  them  to  get  what  they  could  out  of  Stangeist's 
brains  and  leadership,  and  to  be  satisfied  with  what  they 
could  get — since  they  could  get  no  more ! 

Satisfied  ?  Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head.  No ;  that  was 
hsrdly  the  word — cowed,  perhaps,  for  the  moment,  would 
be  better.  But  afterward,  with  a  document  like  that  in  exist 
ence,  when  they  would  never  be  safe  for  an  instant — well, 
beasts  in  the  cages  had  been  known  to  get  the  better  of  the 
man  with  the  whip,  and  beasts  were  gentle  things  compared 
with  Australian  Ike,  The  Mope,  and  Clarie  Deane!  Some 
day  they  would  reverse  the  tables  on  the  Indian  Chief — if 
they  could.  And  if  they  couldn't  it  would  not  be  for  the 
lack  of  trying. 

There  would  be  another  act  in  that  drama  of  the  House 
Divided  before  the  curtain  fell !  And  there  would  be  a  sort 
of  grim,  poetic  justice  in  it,  a  temptation  almost  to  let  the 
play  work  itself  out  to  its  own  inevitable  conclusion,  only — 
Jimmie  Dale,  the  final  touches  given  to  his  features,  stood 
up,  and  his  hands  clenched  suddenly,  fiercely — it  was  not 
just  the  man  higher  up  alone,  there  were  the  other  three 
as  well,  the  whole  four  of  them,  all  of  them,  crimes  without 
number  at  their  door,  brutal,  fiendish  acts,  damnable  out 
rages,  murder  to  answer  for,  with  which  the  public  now  was 
beginning  to  connect  the  name  of  the  Gray  Seal !  The  Gray 
Seal! 

Jimmie  Dale's  hands,  whose  delicate  fingers  were  artfully 
grimed  and  blackened  now  beneath  the  nails,  clenched  still 
tighter — and  then,  with  a  quick  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  a 
thinning  of  the  firmly  compressed  lips,  he  picked  up  the  coat 
from  where  it  lay  upon  the  floor,  put  it  on,  put  the  money 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  213 

that  was  on  the  table  in  his  pocket,  and  replaced  the  box 
under  the  flooring. 

In  quick  succession,  from  the  same  hiding  place,  an 
automatic,  a  black  silk  mask,  an  electric  flashlight,  that  thin 
metal  box  like  a  cigarette  case,  and  a  half  dozen  vicious- 
looking  little  blued-steel  burglar's  tools  were  stowed  away 
in  his  pockets,  the  flooring  carefully  replaced,  the  oilcloth 
spread  back  again ;  and  then,  pulling  a  slouch  hat  well  down 
over  his  eyes,  he  reached  up  to  turn  off  the  gas. 

For  an  instant  his  hand  held  there,  while  his  eyes,  sweep- 
mg  around  the  apartment,  took  in  every  single  detail  about 
him  in  that  same  alert,  comprehensive  way  as  when  he  had 
entered — then  the  room  was  in  darkness,  and  the  Gray  Seal, 
as  Larry  the  Bat,  a  shuffling,  unkempt  creature  of  the  under 
world,  alias  Jimmie  Dale,  the  lionised  of  clubs,  the  matri 
monial  target  of  exclusive  drawing-rooms,  closed  the  door 
of  the  Sanctuary  behind  him,  shuffled  down  the  stairs, 
shuffled  out  into  the  lane,  and  shuffled  along  the  street  to 
ward  the  Bowery. 

A  policeman  on  the  corner  accosted  him  familiarly. 
"  Hello,  Larry !  "  grinned  the  officer. 
"  'Ello !  "  returned  Jimmie  Dale  affably  through  the  side 
of  his  mouth'.     "  Fine  night,  ain't  it  ?  " — and  shuffled  on 
along  the  street. 

And  now  Jimmie  Dale  began  to  hurry — still  with  that 
shuffling  tread,  but  covering  the  ground  nevertheless  with 
amazing  celerity.  He  had  lost  no  time  since  receiving  the 
Tocsin's  letter,  it  was  true,  but,  for  all  that,  it  was  now 
after  ten  o'clock.  Stangeist's  house  was  "  dark  "  that  even 
ing,  she  had  said,  meaning  that  the  occupants,  Stangeist  as 
well  as  whatever  servants  there  might  be,  for  Stangeist  had 
no  family,  were  out — the  servants  in  town  for  a  theatre  or 
picture  show  probably — and  Stangeist  himself  as  yet  not 
back,  presumably  from  that  Roessle  affair.  The  stub  of  an 
old  cigar,  unlighted,  shifted  with  a  sudden,  savage  twist  of 
the  lips  from  one  side  of  Jimmie  Dale's  mouth  to  the  other. 
There  was  need  for  haste.  There  was  no  telling  when  Stan 
geist  might  get  back — as  for  the  servants,  that  did  not  matter 


214    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

so  much ;  servants  in  suburban  homes  had  a  marked  affiniti 
for  "  last  trains !  " 

Jimmie  Dale  boarded  a  cross-town  car,  effected  a  transfer, 
and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  leaving  the  Sanctuary  was 
huddled,  an  inoffensive  heap,  like  a  tired-out  workingman, 
in  a  corner  seat  of  a  Long  Island  train.  From  here,  there 
was  only  a  short  run  ahead  of  him,  and,  twenty  minutes 
later,  descending  from  the  train  at  Forest  Hills,  he  had 
passed  through  the  more  thickly  settled  portion  of  the  lit 
tle  place,  and  was  walking  briskly  out  along  the  country 
road. 

Stangeist's  house  lay,  approximately,  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  station,  quite  by  itself,  and  set  well  back  from 
the  road.  Jimmie  Dale  could  have  found  it  with  his  eyes 
blindfolded — the  Tocsin's  directions  had  lacked  none  of 
their  usual  explicit  minuteness.  The  road  was  quite 
deserted.  Jimmie  Dale  met  no  one.  Even  in  the  houses 
that  he  passed  the  lights  were  in  nearly  every  instance  al 
ready  out. 

Something,  merciless  in  its  rage,  swept  suddenly  ovef 
Jimmie  Dale,  as,  unbidden,  of  its  own  volition,  the  last 
paragraph  he  had  read  in  that  evening's  paper  began  to  re 
peat  itself  over  and  over  again  in  his  mind.  The  two 
little  kiddies — it  seemed  as  though  he  could  see  them  stand 
ing  there — and  from  Jimmie  Dale's  lips,  not  given  to  pro 
fanity,  there  came  a  bitter  oath.  It  might  possibly  be  that, 
even  if  he  were  successful  in  what  was  before  him  to-night, 
the  authors  of  the  Roessle  murder  would  never  be  known. 
That  confession  of  Stangeist's  was  written  prior  to  what 
had  happened  that  afternoon,  and  there  would  be  no  men 
tion,  naturally,  of  Roessle.  And,  for  a  moment,  that  seemed 
to  Jimmie  Dale  the  one  thing  paramount  to  all  others,  the 
one  thing  that  was  vital ;  then  he  shook  his  head,  and  laughed 
out  shortly.  After  all,  it  did  not  matter — whether  Stangeist 
and  the  blood  wolves  he  had  gathered  around  him  paid  the 
penalty  specifically  for  one  particular  crime  cr  for  another 
could  make  little  difference — they  would  pay,  just  as  surely 
just  as  certainly,  once  that  paper  was  in  his  possession! 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  215 

Jimmie  Dale  was  counting  the  houses  as  he  passed — they 
were  more  infrequent  now,  farther  apart.  Stangeist  was 
no  fool — not  the  fool  that  he  would  appear  to  be  for  keeping 
a  document  like  that,  once  he  had  had  the  temerity  to  ex 
ecute  it,  in  his  own  safe ;  for,  in  a  day  or  two,  the  Tocsin 
had  hinted  at  this,  after  holding  it  over  the  heads  of  Aus 
tralian  Ike,  The  Mope,  and  Clarie  Deane  again  to  drive  the 
force  of  it  a  little  deeper  home,  he  would  undoubtedly  de 
stroy  it — and  the  supposition  that  it  was  still  in  existence 
would  have  equally  the  same  effect  on  the  minds  of  the  other 
three !  Stangeist  was  certainly  alive  to  the  peril  that  he  ran 
with  such  a  thing  in  his  possession,  only  the  peril  had  not 
appealed  to  him  as  imminent  either  from  the  three  thugs 
with  whom  he  had  allied  himself,  or,  much  less,  from  any 
one  else,  that  was  all. 

Jimmie  Dale  halted  by  a  low,  ornamental  stone  fence, 
some  three  feet  high,  and  stood  there  for  a  moment,  glanc 
ing  about  him.  This  was  Stangeist's  house — he  could  just 
make  out  the  building  as  it  loomed  up  a  shadowy,  irregular 
shape,  perhaps  two  hundred  yards  back  from  the  fence. 
The  house  was  quite  dark,  not  a  light  showed  in  any  win 
dow.  Jimmie  Dale  sat  down  casually  on  the  fence,  looked 
carefully  again  up  and  down  the  road — then,  swinging  his 
legs  over,  quick  now  in  every  action,  he  dropped  to  the  other 
side,  and  stole  silently  across  the  grass  to  the  rear  of  the 
house. 

Here  he  stopped  again,  reached  up  to  a  window  that  was 
about  on  a  level  with  his  shoulders,  and  tested  its  fastenings. 
The  window — it  was  the  window  of  Stangeist's  private 
sanctum,  according  to  the  plan  in  her  letter — was  securely 
locked.  Jimmie  Dale's  hands  went  into  his  pocket — and 
the  black  silk  mask  was  slipped  over  his  face.  He  listened 
intently — then  a  little  steel  instrument  began  to  gnaw  like 
a  rat. 

A  minute  passed — two  of  them.  Again  Jimmie  Dale  lis 
tened.  There  was  not  a  sound  save  the  night  sounds — the 
Jight  breeze  whispering  through  the  branches  of  the  trees; 
ihe  far-off  rouble  of  a  train ;  the  whir  of  insects ;  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

hoarse  croaking  of  a  frog  from  some  near-by  creek  or  pond. 
The  window  sash  was  raised  an  inch,  another,  and  gradually 
to  the  top.  Like  a  shadow,  Jimmie  Dale  pulled  himself  up  to 
the  sill,  and,  poised  there,  his  hand  parted  the  heavy  portieres 
that  hung  within.  It  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  even  a  single 
object  in  the  room.  He  lowered  himself  to  the  floor,  and 
slipped  cautiously  between  the  portieres. 

From  somewhere  in  the  house,  a  clock  began  to  strike. 
Jimmie  Dale  counted  the  strokes.  Eleven  o'clock.  It  was 
getting  late — too  late !  Stangeist  was  likely  to  be  back  at 
any  moment.  The  flashlight,  in  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  now, 
circled  the  room  with  its  little  round  white  ray,  lingering 
an  instant  in  a  queer,  inquisitive  sort  of  way  here  and  there 
on  this  object  and  that — and  went  out.  Jimmie  Dale  nod 
ded — the  flat  desk  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  the  safe  in  the 
corner  by  the  rear  wall,  the  position  of  everything  the 
room,  even  to  the  chairs,  was  photographed  on  his  mind. 

He  stepped  from  the  portieres  to  the  safe,  and  the  flash 
light  played  again — this  time  reflecting  back  from  the  glisten 
ing  nickelled  knobs.  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  tightened.  It  was  a 
small  safe,  almost  ludicrously  small ;  but  to  such  height  as 
the  art  of  safe  design  had  been  carried,  that  design  was 
embodied  in  the  one  before  him. 

'*  Type  K-four-two-eight-Colby,"  muttered  Jimmie  Dale. 
3t  A  nasty  little  beggar — and  it's  eleven  o'clock  now !  I'd 
use  '  soup '  for  once,  if  it  weren't  that  it  would  put  Stangeist 
wise,  and  give  him  a  chance  to  make  his  get-away  before  the 
district  attorney  got  the  nippers  on  the  four  of  them." 

The  light  went  out.  Jimmie  Dale  dropped  to  his  knees; 
and,  while  his  left  hand  passed  swiftly,  tentatively  over 
dials  and  handle,  he  rubbed  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand 
rapidly  to  and  fro  over  the  carpet.  Wonderful  finger  tips 
were  those  of  Jimmie  Dale,  sensitive  to  an  abnormal  degree; 
and  now,  tingling  with  the  friction,  the  nerves  throbbing  at 
the  skin  surface,  they  closed  in  a  light,  delicate  touch  upon 
the  knob  of  the  dial — and  Jimmie  Dale's  ear  pressed  close 
against  the  face  of  the  safe. 

yime  passed.    The  silence  grew  heavy — seemed  to  palpitate 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  21T 

through  the  room.  Then  a  deep  breath,  half  like  a  sigh, 
half  like  a  fluttering  sob  as  of  a  strong  man  taxed  to  the 
uttermost  of  his  endurance,  came  from  Jimmie  Dale,  and 
his  left  hand  swept  away  the  sweat  beads  that  had  spurted 
to  his  forehead. 

"Eight — thirteen — twenty-two,"   whispered   Jimmie   Date. 

There  was  a  click,  a  low  metalHc  thud  as  the  bolts  s5d 
back,  and  the  door  swung  open. 

And  now  the  flashlight  again,  searching  the  mechanism  ol 
the  inner  door — then  darkness  once  more. 

Five  minutes,  ten  minutes  went  by.  The  clock  strode 
again — and  the  single  stroke  seemed  to  boom  out  through 
the  house  in  a  weird,  raucous,  threatening  note,  and  seemed 
to  linger,  throbbing  in  the  air. 

The  inner  door  was  open — the  flashlight's  ray  was  flood 
ing  a  nest  of  pigeonholes  and  little  drawers.  The  pigeon 
holes  were  crammed  with  papers,  as,  presumably,  too,  were 
the  drawers.  Jimmie  Dale  sucked  in  his  breath.  He  had 
already  been  there  well  over  half  an  hour — every  minute 
now,  every  second  was  counting  against  him,  and  to  search 
that  mass  of  papers  before  Stangeist  returned  was 

"Ah!" — it  came  in  a  fierce  little  ejaculation  from  Jimmie 
Dale.  From  the  centre  pigeonhole,  almost  the  first  paper 
he  had  touched,  he  drew  a  long,  sealed  envelope,  and  at  a 
single  swift  glance  had  read  the  inscription  upon  it,  written 
in  longhand: 

To  THE  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY, 
NEW  YORK  Cmr. 

Important.  Urgent. 

The  words  in  the  corners  were  underscored  three  times. 

Swiftly,  deftly,  Jimmie  Dale's  hands  rolled  the  rounded 
end  of  one  of  his  collection  of  the  legal  instruments  under 
the  flap  of  the  envelope,  turned  the  sheets  over  and  drew  out 
the  folded  document  inside.  There  were  eight  sheets  of  legal 
foolscap,  neatly  fastened  together  at  the  top  left-hand  corner 
with  green  tape.  He  opened  them  out,  read  a  few  words 


218    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

here  and  there,  and  turned  the  pages  hurriedly  over  ta 
scrutinise  the  last  one — and  noded  grimly.  Three  witnesses 
had  testified  to  the  signature  of  Stangeist,  and  a  notary's 
seal,  accompanied  by  the  usual  legal  formula,  was  duly 
affixed. 

Jimmie  Dale  slipped  the  document  into  his  pocket,  and, 
with  the  envelope  in  his  hand,  moved  to  the  desk.  He 
opened  first  one  drawer  and  then  another,  and  finally  dis 
covering  a  pile  of  blank  foolscap,  took  out  four  sheets,  folded 
them,  and  placed  them  in  the  envelope,  sealing  the  flap  of  the 
latter  again.  That  it  did  not  seal  very  well  now  brought  a 
quizzical  twitch  to  Jimmie  Dale's  lips.  Sealed  or  unsealed, 
perhaps,  it  made  little  difference  ;  but,  for  all  that,  he  was  not 
through  with  it  yet.  Apart  from  bringing  the  four  to  justice, 
there  was,  after  all,  a  chance  to  vindicate  the  Gray  Seal  in 
this  matter  at  least,  and  repudiate  the  newspaper  theory 
which  the  public,  to  whom  the  Gray  Seal  was  already  a 
monster  of  iniquity,  would  seize  upon  with  avidity. 

There  was  no  further  need  of  light  now.  Jimmie  Dale 
replaced  the  flashlight  in  his  pocket,  took  out  the  thin,  metal 
case,  opened  it,  and  with  the  tiny  pair  of  tweezers  that  like 
wise  nestled  there,  lifted  out  one  of  the  gray,  diamond- 
shaped  paper  seals.  There  was  no  question  but  that,  once 
under  arrest,  Stangeist's  effects  would  be  immediately  and 
thoroughly  searched  by  the  authorities !  Jimmie  Dale's  smile 
from  quizzical  became  ironic.  It  would  afford  the  police 
another  little,  bewildering  reminder  of  the  Gray  Seal,  and 
give  Carruthers,  good  old  Carruthers  of  the  Morning  News- 
Argus,  so  innocently  ignorant  that  the  Gray  Seal  was  his  old 
college  pal,  yet  the  one  editor  of  them  all  who  was  not  for 
ever  barking  and  yelping  at  the  Gray  Seal's  heels,  a  chance 
to  vindicate  himself  a  little,  too!  Jimmie  Dale  moistened 
the  adhesive  side  of  the  gray  seal,  and,  still  mindful  of  tell 
tale  finger  prints,  laid  it  with  the  tweezers  on  the  flap  of  the 
envelope,  and  pressed  it  firmly  into  place  with  his  elbow. 

And  then,  suddenly,  every  faculty  instantly  on  the  alert, 
he  snatched  up  the  envelope  from  the  desk,  and  listened. 
Was  it  imagination,  a  trick  of  nerves,  or — no,  there  it  was 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP 

again! — a  luotfall  on  the  gravel  walk  at  the  troat  of  the 
house.  The  sound  became  louder,  clearer — two  footfalls 
instead  of  one.  It  was  Stangeist,  and  somebody  was  with 
him. 

In  an  instant  Jimmie  Dale  was  across  the  room  and  kneel 
ing  again  before  the  safe.  His  fingers  were  flying  now.  The 
envelope  shot  back  into  the  pigeonhole  from  which  he  had 
taken  it — the  inner  door  of  the  safe  closed  silently  and 
swiftly. 

A  dry  chuckle  came  from  Jimmie  Dale's  lips.  It  was  just 
like  fiction,  just  precisely  time  enough  to  have  accomplished 
what  he  had  come  for  before  he  was  interrupted,  not  a 
second  more  or  less,  the  villain  foiled  at  the  psychological 
moment !  The  key  was  rattling  in  the  front  door  now — they 
were  in  the  hall — he  could  hear  Stangeist's  voice — there  came 
a  dull  glow  from  the  hallway,  following  the  click  of  an 
electric-light  switch.  The  outer  door  of  the  safe  swung 
shut,  the  bolts  slid  into  place,  the  dial  whirled  under  Jimmie 
Dale's  fingers.  It  was  only  a  step  to  the  portieres,  the  open 
window — and  escape.  He  straightened  up,  stepped  back, 
the  portieres  closed  behind  him — and  the  chuckle  died  on 
Jimmie  Dale's  lips. 

He  was  trapped — caught  without  so  much  as  a  corner  in 
which  to  turn!  Stangeist  was  even  then  coming  into  the 
room — and  outside,  darkly  outlined,  two  forms  stood  just 
beneath  the  window.  Instinctively,  quick  as  a  flash,  Jimmie 
Dale  crouched  below  the  sill.  Who  were  they?  What  did 
it  mean?  Questions  swept  in  swift  sequence  through  his 
brain.  Had  they  seen  him  ?  It  would  be  very  dark  against 
the  background  of  the  portieres,  but  yet  if  they  were  watch 
ing — he  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  He  had  not  been  seen. 
Their  voices  reached  him  in  low,  guarded  whispers. 

"  Say,  youse,  Ike,  pipe  it !  Dere's  a  window  open  in  the 
snitch's  room.  Come  on,  we'll  get  in  dere.  It'll  make  the 
hair  stand  up  on  the  back  of  his  neck  fer  a  starter." 

"  Aw,  f erget  it !  "  replied  another  voice.  "  Can  the  tee- 
ayter  stunt !  Clarie  leaves  the  front  door  unfastened,  don't 
he?  An'  dey'll  be  in  dere  in  a  minute  now.  Wotcber  waist 


220    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

ter  do?  Crab  the  game?  He  might  hear  us  an'  fix  Clarie 
before  we  had  a  chanst,  the  skinny  old  fox !  An'  dere's  the 
light  now — see!  Beat  it  on  yer  toes  fer  the  front  of  the 
house ! " 

The  room  was  flooded  with  light.  Through  the  portieres, 
that  Jimmie  Dale  parted  by  the  barest  fraction  of  an  inch, 
he  could  see  Stangeist  and  another  man,  a  thick-set,  ugly- 
faced-looking  customer — Clarie  Deane,  according  to  that 
brief,  whispered  colloquy  that  he  had  heard  outside.  He 
looked  again  through  the  window.  The  two  dark  forms  had 
disappeared  now,  but  they  had  disappeared  just  a  few 
seconds  too  late — with  the  two  other  men  now  in  the  room, 
and  one  of  them  so  close  that  Jimmie  Dale  could  almost 
have  reached  out  and  touched  him,  it  was  impossible  to  get 
through  the  window  without  being  detected,  when  the 
•slightest  sound  would  attract  instant  attention  and  equally 
instant  suspicion.  It  was  a  chance  to  be  taken  only  as  a  last 
resort. 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  grew  hard,  as  his  fingers  closed  around 
his  automatic  and  drew  the  weapon  from  his  pocket.  It  was 
all  plain  enough.  That  last  act  in  the  drama  which  he  had 
speculatively  anticipated  was  being  staged  with  little  loss  of 
time — and  in  a  grim  sort  of  way  the  thought  flashed  across 
his  mind  that,  perilous  as  his  own  position  was,  Stangeist 
at  that  moment  was  in  even  greater  peril  than  himself, 
Australian  Ike,  The  Mope,  and  Clarie  Deane,  given  the 
chance,  and  they  seemed  to  have  made  that  chance  now, 
were  not  likely  to  deal  in  half  measures — Clarie  Deane 
had  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  the  desk  ;  and  The  Mope  and 
Australian  Ike  were  creeping  around  to  the  front  door ! 

The  parting  in  the  portieres  widened  a  little  more,  a  very 
little  more,  slowly,  imperceptibly,  until  Jimmie  Dale,  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  moving  his  head,  could  obtain  an  un 
obstructed  view  of  the  entire  room. 

Stangeist  tossed  a  bag  he  had  been  carrving  on  the  desk, 
pulled  up  a  chair  opposite  to  Clarie  Deane,  and  sat  down. 
Both  men  were  side  face  to  Jimmie  Dale. 

a  You  tell  the  boys,"  said  Stangeist  abruptly,  "  to  fade 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  221 

away  after  this  for  a  while.  Things  are  getting  too  hot. 
And  you  tell  The  Mope  I  dock  him  five  hundred  for  that 
extra  crunch  on  Roessle's  skull.  That  sort  of  thing  isn't 
necessary.  That's  the  kind  of  stunt  that  gets  the  public 
sore — the  man  was  dead  enough  as  it  was.  See  ?  " 

"  Sure ! '"  Clarie  Deane's  ejaculation  was  a  grunt. 

Stangeist  opened  the  bag,  and  dumped  the  contents  on  the 
desk — pile  after  pile  of  banknotes,  the  pay  roll  of  the  Mar- 
tindale-Kensington  Mills. 

"  Some  haul !  "  observed  Clarie  Deane,  with  a  hoarse 
chuckle.  "  The  papers  said  over  twenty  thousand." 

"  You  can't  always  believe  what  the  papers  say,"  returned 
Stangeist  curtly ;  and,  taking  a  scribbling  pad  from  the  desk, 
began  to  check  up  the  packages. 

Clarie  Deane's  cigar  had  gone  out.  He  rolled  the  short 
stub  in  his  mouth,  and  leaned  forward. 

The  bills  were  evidently  just  as  they  had  been  delivered 
to  the  murdered  paymaster  at  the  bank,  done  up  with  little 
narrow  paper  bands  in  packages  of  one  hundred  notes  each, 
save  for  a  small  bundle  of  loose  bills  which  latter,  with  the 
rolls  of  silver,  Stangeist  swept  to  one  side  of  the  desk. 

Package  by  package,  Stangeist  went  on  jotting  the  amounts 
down  on  the  pad. 

"  Nix !  "  growled  Clarie  Deane  suddenly.  "  Cut  that  out ! 
Them's  fivers  in  that  wad.  Make  that  five  hundred  instead 
of  one — I'm  onter  yer !  " 

"  Mistake,"  said  Stangeist  suavely,  changing  the  figures 
with  his  pencil.  "  You're  pretty  wide  awake  for  this  time 
of  night,  aren't  you,  Clarie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  dunno !  "  responded  Clarie  Deane  gruffly.  "  Not 
so  very ! " 

Stangeist,  finished  with  the  packages,  picked  up  the  loose 
bills,  and,  with  a  short  laugh,  tossed  them  into  the  bag  and 
followed  them  with  the  rolls  of  silver.  He  pushed  the  bag 
toward  Clarie  Deane. 

"  That's  a  little  extra  for  you,"  he  said.  "  The  trouble 
with  you  fellows  is  that  you  don't  know  when  you're  well 
off — but  the  sooner  you  find  it  out  the  better,  unless  you 


222    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

want  another  lesson  like  yesterday."  He  made  the  addition 
on  the  pad.  "  Fifteen  thousand,  eight  hundred  dollars,"  he 
announced  softly.  "  That's  seven  thousand,  nine  hundred 
for  the  three  of  you  to  divide,  less  five  hundred  from  The 
Mope." 

Clarie  Deane's  eyes  narrowed.  His  hands  were  on  his 
knees,  hidden  by  the  desk. 

"  There's  more'n  twenty  there,"  he  said  sullenly — and 
drew  a  match  across  the  under  edge  of  the  desk  with  a  long, 
crackling  noise. 

Stangeist's  face  lost  its  suavity,  a  snarl  curled  his  lips ;  but, 
about  to  reply,  he  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet  instead,  his 
head  turned  sharply  toward  the  door. 

"  What's  that !  "  he  said  hoarsely.  "  It's  not  the  servants, 
they  wouldn't  dare  to " 

Stangeist's  words  ended  in  a  gulp.  He  was  staring  into 
the  muzzle  of  a  heavy-calibered  revolver  that  Clarie  Deane 
had  jerked  up  from  under  the  desk. 

"  You  sit  down,  or  111  blow  your  block  off ! "  said  Clark 
Deane,  with  a  sudden  leer. 

It  happened  then  almost  before  Jimmie  Dale  could  grasp 
the  details  ;  before  even  Clarie  Deane  himself  could  interfere. 
The  door  burst  open,  two  men  rushed  in — and  one,  with  a 
bound,  flung  himself  at  Stangeist.  The  man's  hand,  grasp 
ing  a  clubbed  revolver,  rose  in  the  air.  descended  on 
Stangeist's  head — and  Stangeist  went  down  in  a  limp  heap, 
crashed  into  the  chair,  and  slid  from  the  chair  with  a  thud 
to  the  floor. 

There  was  an  oath  from  Garie  Deane.  He  jumped  from 
his  seat,  and  with  a  violent  shove  sent  the  man  reeling  half 
across  the  room. 

"  Blast  yon.  Mope !  "  he  snarled.  "  You're  too  blamed  fly I 
D'ye  wanter  queer  the  whole  biz?  " 

"  Aw.  vot's  tbe  matter  wid  yoiise!"    The  Mope,  purple- 
faced  with  ra^e,  little  blnrk  eves  glittering,  mouth  working 
under  a  fl attend  nose  that  «ome  previous  encounter   had 
broken  and  bent  over  the  side  of  fai?  fact,  advanced  btilig 
•i-entlv 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  223 

Australian  Ike,  who  had  entered  the  room  with  him,  pulled 
him  back. 

"  Ferget  it !  "  he  flung-  out.  "  Clarie's  dealin*  the  deck. 
Ferget  H !  " 

The  Mope  glared  from  one  to  the  other;  then  shook  his 
fist  at  Stangeist  on  the  floor. 

"  Yottse  two  make  me  sick !  "  he  sneered.  "  Wot's  the 
use  of  waitin'  all  night  ?  We  was  to  bump  him  off,  anyway, 
wasn't  we?  Dat's  wot  youse  said  yerselves,  'cause  wot  was 
ter  stop  him  writin'  out  another  paper  if  we  didn't  fix  him 
f er  keeps  ?  " 

"That's  all  right,"  rejoined  Clarie  Deane;  "but  that's 
the  second  act,  you  bonehead,  see !  We  ain't  got  the  paper 
yet,  have  we?  Say,  take  a  look  at  that  safe!  It's  easier 
ter  scare  him  inter  openin'  it  than  ter  crack  it,  ain't  it  ?  " 

Jimmie  Dale,  from  his  crouched  position,  began  to  rise 
to  his  feet  slowly,  making  but  the  slightest  movement  at  a 
time,  cautious  of  the  least  sound.  His  lips  were  like  a  thin 
line,  his  fingers  tightly  pressed  over  the  automatic  in  his 
hand.  There  was  not  room  for  him  between  the  portieres 
and  the  window  ;  and,  do  what  he  could,  the  hangings  bulged 
a  little.  Let  one  of  the  three  notice  that,  or  inadvertently 
brush  against  the  portieres,  and  his  life  would  not  be  worth 
an  instant's  purchase. 

They  were  lifting  Stangeist  up  now,  propping  him  up  in 
the  chair.  Stangeist  moaned,  opened  his  eyes,  stared  in  a 
dazed  way  at  the  three  faces  that  leered  into  his,  then  dawn 
ing  intelligence  came,  and  his  face,  that  had  been  white  be 
fore,  took  on  a  pasty,  grayish  pallor. 

"  You— the  three  of  you !  "  he  mumbled.  "  What's  this 
mean  ?  " 

And  then  Clarie  Deane  laughed  in  a  low,  brutal  way. 

"  Wot  d'ye  think  it  means  ?  We  want  that  paper,  an'  we 
want  it  damn  quick — see !  D'ye  think  we  was  goin'  ter  stand 
fer  havin'  a  trip  ter  Sing  Sing  an'  the  wire  chair  danglin* 
over  our  heads !  " 

Stangeist  closed  his  eyes.  When  he  opened  them  again, 
fcomething  of  the  old-time  craftiness  was  in  his  face. 


224,    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  he  inquired, 
almost  sharply.  "  You  know  what  will  happen  to  you,  if 
anything  happens  to  me." 

"  Don't  youse  kid  yerself !  "  retorted  Clarie  Deane.  "  D'ye 
think  we're  fools?  This  ain't  like  it  was  yesterday — see! 
We  gets  the  paper  this  time — so  there  won't  nothin'  hap 
pen  to  us.  You  come  across  with  it  blasted  quick  now,  or 
The  Mope'll  give  you  another  on  the  bean  that'll  put  you 
to  sle3p  fer  keeps!" 

The  blood  was  running  down  Stangeist's  face.  He  wiped 
it  away  from  his  eyes. 

"  It's  not  here,"  he  said  innocently.  "  It's  in  my  box  in 
the  safety-deposit  vaults." 

"  Aw,"  blurted  out  Australian  Ike,  pushing  suddenly  for 
ward,  "  youse  can't  work  dat  crawl  on " 

"  Cut  it  out,  Ike ! "  snapped  Clarie  Dane.  "  I'm  runnin* 
this!  So  it's  in  the  vaults,  eh?"  He  shoved  his  face  to 
ward  Stangeist's. 

"  Yes,"  said  Stangeist  easily.  "  You  see — I  was  looking 
for  something  like  this." 

Garie  Deane's  fist  clenched. 

"  You  lie !  "  he  choked.  "  The  Mope,  here,  was  the  last 
of  us  you  showed  the  paper  to  yesterday  afernoon,  an'  the 
vaults  was  closed  then — an'  you  ain't  been  there  to-day, 
'cause  you've  been  watched.  That's  why  we  fixed  it  fei 
to-night  after  the  divvy  that  you've  just  tried  ter  do  us  on 
again,  'cause  we  knew  you  had  it  here." 

"  T  tell  you,  it's  not  here."  said  Stangeist  evenly. 

"You  lie!"  said  Clarie  Deane  again.  "It's  in  that  safe. 
The  Mope  heard  you  tell  the  girl  in  yer  office  that  if  any 
thing  happened  you  she  was  ter  wise  up  the  district  attor 
ney  that  there  was  a  paper  in  your  safe  at  home  fer  him 
that  was  important.  Now  then,  you  beat  it  over  ter  that 
safe,  an'  open  it  up — we'll  give  you  a  minute  ter  do  it  in.'* 

"  The  paper's  not  there,  I  tell  you,"  said  Stangeist  once 
tnore. 

"That's  all  right,"  submitted  Clarie  Deane  grimly, 
*  There's  a  quarter  of  that  minute  gone." 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  225 

"  I  won't !  "  Stangeist  flashed  out  violently. 
"  That's  all  right,"  repeated  Clarie  Deane.    "  There's  half 
of  that  minute  gone." 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes,  in  a  fascinated  sort  of  way,  were  on 
Stangeist.  The  man's  face  was  twitching-  now,  moisture 
began  to  ooze  from  his  forehead,  as  the  callous  brutality  of 
the  scowling  faces  seemed  to  get  him — and  then  he  lurched 
suddenly  forward  in  his  chair. 

"  My  God !  "  he  cried  out,  a  ring  of  terror  in  his  voice. 
"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  You'll  pay  for  it !  They'll  get 
you !  The  servants  will  be  back  in  a  minute." 

"  Two  skirts ! "  jeered  Clarie  Deane.  We  ain't  goin* 
ter  run  away  from  them.  If  they  comes  before  we  goes, 
we'll  fix  'em.  That  minute's  up !  " 

Stangeist  licked  his  lips  with  his  tongue. 
"Suppose — suppose  I  refuse?"  he  said  hoarsely. 
"  You  can  suit  yerself,"  said  Clarie  Deane,  with  a  vicious 
grin.  "  We  know  the  paper's  there,  an'  we  gets  it  before 
we  leaves  here — see  ?  You  can  take  yer  choice.  Either  you 
goes  over  ter  the  safe  an'  opens  it  yerself,  or  else  " — he 
paused  and  produced  a  small  bottle  from  his  pocket — "  this 
is  nitro-glycerin',  an*  we  opens  it  fer  you  with  this.  Only 
if  we  does  the  job  we  does  it  proper.  We  ties  you  up  and 
sets  you  against  the  door  of  the  safe  before  we  touches  off 
the  '  soup,'  an'  mabbe  if  yer  a  good  guesser  you  can  guess 
the  rest." 

There  was  a  short,  raucous  guffaw  from  The  Mope. 
Stangeist  turned  a  drawn  face  toward  the  man,  stared  at 
him,  and  stared  in  a  miserable  way  at  the  other  two  in  turn. 
He  licked  his  lips  again — ncne  was  in  a  better  position  than 
himself  to  know  that  there  would  be  neither  scruples  nor 
hesitancy  to  interfere  with  carrying  out  the  threat. 

"  Suppose,"  he  said,  trying  to  keep  his  voice  steady,  "  sup 
pose  I  open  the  safe — what  then — afterward  ?  " 

"  We  ain't  got  the  safe  open  yet,"  countered  Clarie  Deane 
uncompromisingly.  "  An'  we  ain't  got  no  more  time  ter 
fool  over  it,  either.  You  get  a  move  on  before  I  count* 
five,  or  The  Mope  an'  Ike  ties  you  up  [  One " 


226    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Stangeist  staggered  to  his  feet,  wiped  the  blood  out  of  h» 
eyes  for  the  second  time,  and,  with  lips  working,  went  un 
steadily  across  the  room  to  the  safe. 

He  knelt  before  it,  and  began  to  manipulate  the  dial ;  while 
the  others  crowded  around  behind  him.  The  Mope  was 
fingering  his  revolver  again  club  fashion.  Australian  Ike'e 
elbow  just  grazed  the  portieres,  and  Jimmie  Dale  flattened 
himself  against  the  window,  holding  his  breath — a  smile  on 
his  lips  that  was  mirthless,  deadly,  cold.  The  end  was  not 
far  off  now  ;  and  then — what? 

Stangeist  had  the  outer  door  of  the  safe  open  now — and 
now  the  inner  door  swung  back.  He  reached  in  his  hand  to 
the  pigeonhole,  drew  out  the  envelope — and  with  a  sudden, 
wild  cry,  reeled  to  his  feet. 

"  My  God !  "  he  screamed  out.    "  What's— what's  this  I  " 

Clarie  Deane  snatched  the  envelope  from  him. 

"  The  Gray  Seal! " — the  words  came  with  a  jerk  from  his 
lips.  He  ripped  the  envelope  open  frantically — and  like  a 
man  stunned  gazed  at  the  four  blank  sheets,  while  the  colour 
left  his  face.  "  It's  gone!  "  he  cried  out  hoarsely. 

"  Gone ! "  There  was  a  burst  of  oaths  from  Australian 
Ike.  "  Gone !  Den  we're  nipped — de  lot  of  us !  " 

The  Mope's  face  was  like  a  maniac's  as  he  whirled  on 
Stangeist. 

"  Sure ! "  he  croaked.  "  But  youse  gets  yers  first, 
youse — 

With  a  cry,  Stangeist,  to  elude  the  blow,  ducked  blindly 
backward — into  the  portieres — and  with  a  rip  and  tear  the 
hangings  were  wrenched  apart. 

It  came  instantaneously — a  yell  of  mingled  surprise  and 
fury  from  the  three — the  crash  and  spit  of  Jimmie  Dale's  re 
volver  as  he  fired  one  shot  at  the  floor  to  stop  their  rush — 
then  he  flung  himself  at  the  window,  through  it,  and  dropped 
sprawling  to  the  ground. 

A  stream  of  flame  cut  the  darkness  above  him,  a  bullet 
whistled  by  his  head — another — and  another.  He  was  on 
his  feet,  quick  as  a  cat,  and  running  close  alongside  of  the 
wall  of  the  house.  He  heard  a  thud  behind  him,  still  ac> 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  227 

0ther,  and  yet  a  third — they  were  dropping  through  the  win 
dow  after  him.  Came  another  shot,  an  angry  hum  of  the 
bullet  closer  than  before — then  the  pound  of  racing  feet. 

Jimmie  Dale  swung  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  run 
ning  at  top  speed.  Something  that  was  like  a  hot  iron  sud 
denly  burned  and  seared  abng  the  side  of  his  head  just 
above  the  ear.  He  reeled,  staggered,  recovered  himself,  and 
dashed  on.  It  nauseated  him,  that  stinging  in  his  head,  and 
all  at  once  seemed  to  be  draining  his  strength  away.  The 
shouts,  the  shots,  the  running  feet  became  like  a  curious 
buzzing  in  his  ears.  It  seemed  strange  that  they  should  have 
hit  him,  that  he  should  be  wounded !  If  he  could  only  reach 
the  low  stone  wall  by  the  road,  he  could  at  least  make  a  fight 
for  his  life  on  the  other  side ! 

Red  streaks  swam  before  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes.  The  wall 
was  such  a  long  way  off — a  yard  or  two  was  a  very  long 
way  more  to  go — the  weakness  seemed  to  be  creeping  up 
now  even  to  numb  his  brain.  No,  here  was  the  wall — they 
hadn't  hit  him  again — he  laughed  in  a  demented  way — and 
rolled  his  body  over,  and  fell  to  the  other  side. 

"Jimmie!  " 

The  cry  seemed  to  reach  some  inner  consciousness,  revive 
him,  send  the  blood  whipping  through  his  veins.  That 
voice !  It  was  her — hers!  The  Tocsin !  There  was  an  auto 
mobile,  engine  racing,  standing  there  in  the  road.  He  won 
to  his  feet — dark,  rushing  forms  were  almost  at  the  wall. 
He  fired — once — twice — fired  again — and  turned,  staggering 
for  the  car. 

"  Jimmie !    Jimmie — quick  J " 

Panting,  gasping,  he  half  fell  into  the  tonneau.  The  car 
leaped  forward,  yells  filled  the  air — but  only  one  thing  was 
dominant  in  Jimmie  Dale's  reeling  brain  now.  He  pulled 
himself  up  to  his  feet,  and  leaned  over  the  back  of  the  seat, 
reaching  for  the  slim  figure  that  was  bent  over  the  wheel. 

"  It's  you — you  at  last !  "  he  cried.  "  Your  face — let  me 
see  your  face !  " 

A  bullet  split  the  back  panel  of  the  car — little  spurting 
flames  were  dancing  out  from  the  roadway  behind. 


228    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Are  you  mad !  "  she  shouted  back  at  him.  "  Let  me 
Steer — do  you  want  them  to  hit  me !  " 

"  No-o,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  a  queer  singsong  sort  of 
way,  and  his  head  seemed  to  spin  dizzily  around.  "  No— = 
I  guess —  He  choked.  "  The  paper — it's  in — my 

pocket  " — and  he  went  down  unconscious  on  the  floor  of  the 
car. 

When  he  recovered  his  senses  he  was  lying  on  a  couch  in 
a  plainly  furnished  room,  and  a  man,  a  stranger,  red,  jov 
ial-faced,  farmerish  looking,  was  bending  over  him. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  demanded  finally,  propping  himself 
up  on  his  elbow. 

"  You're  all  right,"  replied  the  man.  "  She  said  you'd 
come  around  in  a  little  while." 

"  Who  said  so  ?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  She  did.  The  woman  who  brought  you  here  about  five 
minutes  ago.  She  said  she  ran  you  down  with  her  car." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale.  He  felt  of  his  head — it  was 
bandaged,  and  it  was  bandaged,  he  was  quite  sure,  with  a 
piece  of  torn  underskirt.  He  looked  at  the  man  again. 
"  You  haven't  told  me  yet  where  I  am." 

"  Long  Island,"  the  other  answered.  My  name's  Haiv 
Bon.  I  keep  a  bit  of  a  truck  garden  here." 

"  Oh,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  again. 

The  man  crossed  the  room,  picked  up  an  envelope  troaa 
the  table,  and  came  back  to  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  She  said  to  give  you  this  as  soon  as  you  got  your  senses, 
and  asked  us  to  put  you  up  for  a  while,  as  long  as  you  wanted 
to  stay,  and  paid  us  for  it,  too.  She's  all  right,  she  is.  You 
don't  want  to  hold  the  accident  up  against  her,  she  was 
mighty  sorry  about  it.  And  now  I'll  go  and  see  if  the  old 
lady's  got  your  room  ready  while  you're  readin'  your  letter." 

The  man  left  the  room. 

Jimmie  Dale  sat  up  on  the  couch,  and  tore  the  envelope 
open.  The  note,  scrawled  in  pencil,  began  abruptly : 

You  were  quite  a  problem.  I  couldn't  take  you  home**-- 
*ould  I  ?  I  couldn't  take  you  to  what  you  call  the  Sanctuarr 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  229 

could  I?  I  couldn't  take  you  to  a  hospital,  nor  call  in  a 
doctor — the  stain  you  use  wouldn't  stand  it.  But,  thank 
God !  I  know  it's  only  a  flesh  wound,  and  you  are  all  right 
where  you  are  for  the  day  or  two  that  you  must  keep  quiet 
and  take  care  of  yourself.  By  the  time  you  read  this  the 
paper  will  be  on  the  way  to  the  proper  hands,  and  by  morn 
ing  the.  four  where  they  should  be.  There  were  a  few  arti 
cles  in  your  clothes  I  thought  it  better  to  take  charge  of  in 
case — well,  in  case  of  accident" 

Jimmie  Dale  tore  the  note  up,  and  smiled  wryly  at  the 
door.  He  felt  in  his  pockets.  Mask,  revolver,  burglar's 
tools,  and  the  thin  metal  insignia  case  were  gone. 

"  And  I  had  the  sublime  optimism,"  murmured  Jimmie 
Dale,  "  to  spend  months  trying  to  find  her  as  Larry  the 
Bat!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

TWO  CROOKS   AND   A   KNAVE 

TT*HE  bullet  wound  along  the  side  of  his  head  and  just 
above  his  ear  would  have  been  a  very  awkward  thing 
indeed,  in  more  ways  than  one,  for  Jimmie  Dale,  the  million 
aire,  to  have  explained  at  his  club,  in  his  social  set,  or  even  to 
his  servants,  and  of  these  latter  to  Jason  the  Solicitous  in 
particular ;  but  for  Jimmie  Dale  as  Larry  the  Bat  it  was  a 
matter  of  little  moment.  There  was  none  to  question  Larry 
the  Bat,  save  in  a  most  casual  and  indifferent  way ;  and  a 
bandage  of  any  description,  primarily  and  above  all  one  that 
he  could  arrange  himself,  with  only  himself  to  take  note  of 
the  incongruous  hues  of  skin  where  the  stain,  the  grease 
paint,  and  the  make-up  was  washed  off,  would  excite  little 
attention  in  that  world  where  daily  affrays  were  common* 
place  happenings,  and  a  wound,  for  whatever  reason,  had 
long  since  lost  the  tang  of  novelty.  Why  then  should  it 
arouse  even  a  passing  interest  if  Larry  the  Bat,  credited  as 
the  most  confirmed  of  dope  fiends,  should  have  fallen  down 
the  dark,  rickety  stairs  of  the  tenement  in  one  of  his  orgies, 
and,  in  the  expressive  language  of  the  Bad  Lands,  cracked 
his  bean ! 

And  so  Jimmie  Dale  had  been  forced  to  maintain  the  role 
of  Larry  the  Bat  for  a  far  longer  period  than  he  had  antic 
ipated  when,  ten  days  before,  he  had  assumed  it  for  the 
night's  work  that  had  so  nearly  resulted  fatally  for  himself, 
though  it  had  placed  Roessle's  murderers  behind  the  bars. 
For  the  next  day,  unwilling  to  court  the  risk  of  remaining 
in  that  neighbourhood,  he  had  left  Hanson's,  the  farmer's, 
house  on  Long  Island  where  the  Tocsin  had  carried  him  in 

230 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  231 

an  unconscious  state,  telephoned  Jason  that  he  had  been  un 
expectedly  called  out  of  town  for  a  few  days,  and  returned 
to  the  Sanctuary  in  New  York.  And  here,  to  his  grim  dis* 
may,  he  had  found  the  underworld  in  a  state  of  furious, 
angry  unrest,  like  a  nest  of  hornets,  stirred  up,  seeking  to 
wreak  vengeance  on  an  unseen  assailant. 

For  years,  as  the  Gray  Seal,  Jimmie  Dale  had  lived  with 
the  slogan  of  the  police,  "  The  Gray  Seal  dead  or  alive — 
but  the  Gray  Seal ! "  sounding  in  his  ears ;  with  the  news 
papers  screaming  their  diatribes,  arousing  the  people  against 
him,  nagging  the  authorities  into  sleepless,  frenzied  efforts 
to  trap  him ;  with  a  price  upon  his  head  that  was  large 
enough  to  make  a  man,  not  too  pretentious,  rich  for  life — but 
in  the  underworld,  until  then,  the  name  of  the  Gray  Seal  had 
been  one  to  conjure  with,  for  the  underworld  had  sworn 
by  the  unknown  master  criminal,  and  had  spoken  his  name 
with  a  reverence  that  was  none  the  less  genuine  even  if 
pungently  tainted  with  unholiness.  But  now  it  was  different. 
Up  and  down  through  the  Bad  Lands,  in  gambling  hells,  ia 
vicious  resorts,  in  the  hiding  places  where  thugs  and  crooki 
burrowed  themselves  away  from  the  daylight,  through  th< 
heart  and  the  outskirts  of  the  underworld  travelled  the  fiat, 
whispered  out  of  mouths  crooked  to  one  side — death  to  the 
Gray  Seal! 

Gangland  differences  were  forgotten  in  the  larger  issue 
of  the  common  weal.  The  gang  spirit  became  the  spirit  of 
a  united  whole,  and  the  crime  fraternity  buzzed  and  hummed 
poisonously,  spurred  on  by  hatred,  thirst  for  revenge,  fear, 
and,  perhaps  most  potent  of  all,  a  hideous  suspicion  now  of 
each  other. 

The  underworld  had  received  a  shock  at  which  it  stood 
aghast,  and  which,  with  its  terrifying  possibilities,  struck 
consternation  into  the  soul  of  every  individual  of  that 
brotherhood  whose  bond  was  crime,  who  was  already 
"  wanted  "  for  some  offence  or  other,  whether  it  ranged 
from  murder  in  the  first  degree  to  some  petty  piece  of  sneak 
thievery.  Stangeist,  the  Indian  chief,  the  lawyer  whose  cun- 
braitt  had  stood  as  a  rampart  between  the  underworld 


232    THE  ADVENTUKES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

and  a  prison  cell,  was  himself  now  in  the  Tombs  with  the 
certainty  of  the  electric  chair  before  him ;  and  with  hira, 
the  same  fate  equally  assured,  were  Australian  Ike,  The 
Mope,  and  Clarie  Deane !  Aristocrats  of  the  Bad  Lands, 
peers  of  that  inglorious  realm  were  those  four — and  the  blow 
had  fallen  with  stunning  force,  a  blow  that  in  itself  would 
have  been  enough  to  have  stirred  the  underworld  to  its 
depths.  But  that  was  not  all — from  the  cells  in  the  Tombs, 
from  the  four  came  the  word,  and  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth  in  that  strange  underground  exchange  until  all  had 
heard  it,  that  the  Gray  Seal  had  "  squealed."  The  Gray  Seal 
who,  though  unknown,  they  had  counted  the  most  eminent 
imong  themselves,  had  squealed!  Who  was  the  Gray  Seal? 
It  he  had  held  the  secrets  of  Stangeist  and  his  band,  what 
else  might  he  not  know?  Who  else  might  not  fall  next? 
The  Gray  Seal  had  become  a  snitch,  a  menace,  a  source  of 
danger  that  stalked  among  them  like  a  ghastly  spectre.  Wb* 
was  the  Gray  Seal?  None  knew. 

"  Death  to  the  Gray  Seal !  Run  him  to  earth !  "  went  t!«t 
whisper  from  lip  to  lip;  and  with  the  whisper  men  star-* 
uncertainly  into  each  other's  faces,  fearful  that  the  one  W 
whom  they  spoke  might  even  be — the  Gray  Seal! 

Jimmie  Dale's  lips  twisted  queerly  as  he  looked  around 
him  at  the  squalid  appointments  of  the  Sanctuary.  The 
police  were  bad  enough,  the  papers  were  worse;  but  this 
was  a  still  graver  peril.  With  every  denizen  of  the  under 
world  below  the  dead  line  suspicious  of  each  other,  their 
lives,  the  penitentiary,  or  a  prison  sentence  the  stakes  against 
which  each  one  played,  the  role  of  Larry  the  Bat,  clever  as 
was  the  make-up  and  disguise,  was  fraught  now  more  than 
ever  before  with  danger  and  peril.  It  seemed  as  though 
slowly  the  net  was  beginning  at  last  to  tighten  around  him. 

The  murky,  yellow  flame  of  the  gas  jet  flickered  suddenly, 
as  though  in  acquiescence  with  the  quick,  impulsive  shrug 
of  Jimmie  Dale's  shoulders — and  Jimmie  Dale,  bending  to 
peer  into  the  cracked  mirror  that  was  propped  up  on  the 
broken-legged  table,  knotted  his  dress  tie  almost  fastidiously. 
The  hair,  if  just  a  trifle  too  long,  covered  the  scar  on  his 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  233 

now,  the  wound  no  longer  required  a  bandage,  and 
Larry  the  Bat,  for  the  time  being  at  least,  had  disappeared. 
Across  the  foot  of  the  bed,  neatly  folded,  lay  his  dress  coat 
and  overcoat,  but  little  creased  for  all  that  they  had  lain 
in  that  hiding-place  under  the  flooring  since  the  night  when, 
hurrying  from  the  club,  he  had  placed  them  there  to  assume 
instead  the  tatters  of  Larry  the  Bat.  It  was  Jimmie  Dale  in 
his  own  person  again  who  stood  there  now  in  Larry  the  Bat's 
disreputable  den,  an  incongruous  figure  enough  against  the 
background  of  his  miserable  surroundings,  in  perfect-fitting 
shoes  and  trousers,  the  broad  expanse  of  spotless  white  shirt 
bosom  glistening  even  in  the  poverty-stricken  flare  from  the 
single,  sputtering  gas-  jet. 

Jimmie  Dale  took  the  watch  from  his  pocket  that  had  not 
been  wound  for  many  days,  wound  it  mechanically,  set  it 
by  guesswork — it  was  not  far  from  eight  o'clock — and  re 
placed  it  in  his  pocket.  Carefully  then,  one  at  a  time,  he 
examined  his  fingers,  long,  slim,  sensitive,  tapering  fingers, 
magical  masters  of  safes  and  locks  and  vaults  of  the  most 
intricate  and  modern  mechanism — no  single  trace  of  grime 
remained,  they  were  metamorphosed  hands  from  the  filthy 
paws  of  Larry  the  Bat.  He  nodded  in  satisfaction ;  and 
picked  up  the  mirror  for  a  final  inspection  of  himself,  that, 
this  time,  did  not  miss  a  single  line  in  his  face  or  neck. 
Again  Jimmie  Dale  nodded.  As  though  he  had  vanished 
into  thin  air,  as  though  he  had  never  existed,  not  a  trace 
of  Larry  the  Bat  remained — except  the  heap  of  rags  upon 
the  floor,  the  battered  slouch  hat,  the  frayed  trousers,  the 
patched  boots  witn  their  broken  laces,  the  mismated  socks, 
the  grimy  flannr!  shirt,  and  the  old  coat  that  he  had  just  dis 
carded. 

The  mirror  was  replaced  on  the  table ;  and,  pushing  the 
heap  of  c.uches  before  him  with  his  foot,  Jimmie  Dale  knelt 
down  in  the  corner  of  the  room  where  the  oilcloth  had  been 
tur**sd  up  and  the  loose  planking  of  the  floor  removed,  and 
began  to  pack  the  articles  avay  in  the  hole.  Jimmie  Dale 
rolled  the  trousers  of  Larry  the  Bat  into  a  compact  little 
and  stuffed  them  under  the  flooring.  The  gas  jet 


234.    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

seemed  to  blink  again  in  a  sort  of  confidential  approval,  as 
though  the  secret  lay  inviolate  between  itself  and  Jimmie 
Dale.  Through  the  closed  window,  shade  tightly  drawn, 
came,  low  and  muffled,  the  sound  of  distant  life  from  the 
Bowery,  a  few  blocks  away.  The  gas  jet,  suffering  from 
air  somewhere  within  the  pipes,  hissed  angrily,  the  yellow 
flame  died  to  a  little  blue,  forked  spurt — and  Jimmie  Dale 
was  on  his  feet,  his  face  suddenly  hard  and  white  as  mar 
ble. 

Some  one  was  knocking  at  the  door! 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  Jimmie  Dale  stood  motion 
less.  Found  as  Jimmie  Dale  in  the  den  of  Larry  the  Bat, 
and  the  consequences  required  no  effort  of  the  imagination 
to  picture  them ;  police  or  denizen  of  the  underworld  who 
was  knocking  there,  it  was  all  the  same,  the  method  of  death 
would  be  a  little  different,  that  was  all — one  legalised,  the 
•  Tther  not.  Jimmie  Dale,  Larry  the  Bat,  the  Gray  Seal,  once 
uncovered,  could  expect  as  much  quarter  as  would  be  given 
to  a  cornered  rat.  His  eyes  swept  the  room  with  a  swift, 
Iritical  glance — evidences  of  Larry  the  Bat,  the  clothes, 
were  still  about,  even  if  he  in  the  person  of  Jimmie  Dale, 
alone  damning  enough,  were  not  standing  there  himself. 
And  he  was  even  weaponless — the  Tocsin  had  taken  the 
revolver  from  his  pocket,  together  with  those  other  telltale 
articles,  the  mask,  the  flashlight,  the  little  blued-steel  tools, 
before  she  had  intrusted  him  that  night,  wounded  and  uncon- 
icious,  to  Hanson's  care. 

Jimmie  Dale  slipped  his  feet  out  of  his  low  evening  pumps, 
snatched  up  the  old  coat  and  hat  from  the  pile,  put  them  on, 
and,  without  a  sound,  reached  the  gas  jet  and  t timed  it 
off.  A  second  had  gone  by — no  more — the  knocking  still 
sounded  insistently  on  the  door.  It  was  dark  now,  perfectly 
black,,  He  started  across  the  room,  his  tread  absolutely 
silent  as  the  trained  muscles,  relaxing,  threw  the  body  weight 
gradually  upon  one  foot  before  the  next  step  was  taken. 
It  was  like  a  shadow,  a  little  blacker  in  outline  than  the  sur 
rounding  blackness,  stealing  across  the  floor. 

Halfway  to  the  door  he  paused.     The  knocking  barf 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  235 

Ceased.  He  listened  intently.  It  was  not  repeated.  In 
stead,  his  ear  caught  a  guarded  step  retreating  outside  in 
the  hall.  Jimmie  Dale  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  He  went  on 
again  to  the  door,  still  listening.  Was  it  a  trap — that  step 
outside? 

At  the  door  now,  tense,  alert,  he  lowered  his  ear  to  the 
keyhole.  There  came  the  faintest  creak  from  the  stairs. 
Jimmie  Dale's  brows  gathered.  It  was  strange !  The  knock 
ing  had  not  lasted  long.  Whoever  it  was  was  going  away— 
but  it  required  the  utmost  caution  to  descend  those  stairs, 
rickety  and  tumble-down  as  they  were,  with  no  more  sound 
than  that !  Why  such  caution  ?  Why  not  a  more  determined 
and  prolonged  effort  at  his  door — the  visitor  had  been  easily 
satisfied  that  Larry  the  Bat  was  not  within.  Too  easily  sat 
isfied  !  Jimmie  Dale  turned  the  key  noiselessly  in  the  lock. 
He  opened  the  door  cautiously — a  half  inch — an  inch. 
There  was  no  sound  of  footsteps  now.  Occasionally  a  lodger 
moved  about  on  the  floor  above;  occasionally  from  some 
where  in  the  tenement  came  the  murmur  of  voices  as  from 
behind  closed  doors — that  was  all.  All  else  was  silence  and 
darkness  now. 

The  door,  on  its  well-oiled  hinges,  swung  wide  open.  Jim 
mie  Dale  thrust  out  his  head  into  the  hall — and  something 
fell  upon  the  threshold  with  a  little  thud — but  for  a  moment 
Jimmie  Dale  did  not  move.  Listening,  trying  to  pierce  the 
darkness,  he  was  as  still  as  the  silence  around  him ;  then  he 
stooped  and  groped  along  the  threshold.  His  hand  closed 
upon  what  seemed  like  a  small  box  wrapped  in  paper.  He 
picked  it  up,  closed  and  locked  the  door  again,  and  retreated 
back  across  the  room.  It  was  strange — unpleasantly  strange 
— a  box  propped  stealthily  against  the  door  so  that  it  would 
fall  to  the  threshold  when  the  door  was  opened !  And  why 
the  stealth  ?  What  did  it  mean  ?  Had  the  underworld  with 
%ts  thousand  eyes  and  ears  already  succeeded  in  a  few  days 
where  the  police  had  failed  signally  for  years — had  they  sent 
him  this,  whatever  it  was,  as  some  grim  token  that  they  had 
run  Larry  the  Bat  to  earth  ?  He  shook  his  head.  No ;  gang- 
Jand  struck  more  swiftly,  with  less  finesse  than  that — the 


236    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

*  cat-and-mouse  "  act  was  never  one  it  favoured,  for  th? 
mouse  had  bee1',  known  to  get  away. 

Jimmie  Dai£  '^hted  the  gas  again,  and  turned  the  pack 
age  over  in  his  hands.  It  was,  as  he  had  surmised,  a  small 
cardboard  box ;  and  it  was  wrapped  in  plain  paper  and  tied 
with  a  string.  :  untied  the  string,  and  still  suspicious,  as  a 
man  is  suspicious  in  the  knowledge  that  he  is  stalked  by  peril 
at  every  turn,  removed  the  wrapper  a  little  gingerly.  It  was 
still  without  sign  or  marking  upon  it,  just  an  ordinary  card 
board  box.  He  lifted  off  the  cover,  and,  with  a  short,  sud 
den  laugh,  stared,  a  little  out  of  countenance,  at  the  contents. 

On  the  top  lay  a  white,  unaddressed  envelope.  Hers! 
Beneath — he  emptied  the  box  on  the  table — his  black  silk 
mask,  his  automatic  revolver,  the  kit  of  fine,  small  blued- 
steel  burglar's  tools,  his  pocket  flashlight,  and  the  thin  metal 
insignia  case.  The  Tocsin  !  Impulsively  Jimmie  Dale  turned 
toward  the  door — and  stopped.  His  shoulders  lifted  in  a 
shrug  that,  meant  to  be  philosophical,  was  far  from  philo 
sophical.  He  could  not,  dared  not  venture  far  through  the 
tenement  dressed  as  he  was ;  and  even  if  he  could  there 
were  three  exits  to  the  Sanctuary,  a  fact  that  now  for  the 
first  time  was  not  wholly  a  source  of  unmixed  saisfaction 
to  him  ;  and  besides — she  was  gone ! 

Jimmie  Dale  opened  the  letter,  a  grim  smile  playing  on 
his  lips.  He  had  forgotten  for  the  moment  that  the  illusion 
he  had  cherished  for  years  in  the  belief  that  she  did  not  know 
Larry  the  Bat  as  an  alias  of  Jimmie  Dale  was  no  more  than 
—an  illusion.  Well,  it  had  been  a  piece  of  consummate  ego 
tism  on  his  part,  that  was  all.  But,  after  all,  what  did  ft 
matter?  He  had  had  his  innings,  tried  in  the  role  of  Larry 
the  Bat  to  solve  her  identity,  devoted  weeks  on  end  to  the  at 
tempt — and  failed.  Some  day,  perhaps,  his  turn  would 
come ;  some  day,  perhaps,  she  would  no  longer  be  able  to 
elude  him,  unless — the  letter  crackled  suddenly  in  his  fin 
gers — unless  the  house  that  they  had  built  on  such  strange 
and  perilous  foundations  crashed  at  some  moment,  without 
an  instant's  warning,  in  disaster  and  ruin  to  the  ground-. 
Who  knew  but  that  this  letter  now,  another  call  to  the 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  237 

Seal  to  act,  another  peril  invited,  would  be  the  last?  There 
must  be  an  end  some  day ;  luck  and  nerve  had  their  limita 
tions — it  had  almost  ended  last  week! 

"  Dear  Philanthropic  Crook  " — it  was  the  same  inevitable 
beginning.  "  You  are  well  enough  again,  aren't  you,  Jim- 
mie? — I  am  sending  these  little  things  back  to  you,  for  you 
will  need  them  to-night." — Jimmie  Dale  read  on,  muttering 
snatches  of  the  letter  aloud :  "  Michael  Breen  prospecting  in 
Alaska — map  of  location  of  rich  mining  claim — Hamvert, 
his  former  partner,  had  previously  fleeced  him  of  fifteen 
thousand  dollars — his  share  of  a  deal  together — Breen  was 
always  a  very  poor  man — Breen  later  struck  a  claim  alone  ; 
but,  taking  sick,  came  back  home — died  on  arrival  in  New 
York  after  giving  map  to  his  wife — wife  in  very  needy  cir 
cumstances — lives  with  little  daughter  of  seven  in  New 
Rochelle — works  out  by  the  day  at  Henry  Mittel's  house 
on  the  Sound  near-by — wife  intrusted  map  for  safe-keeping 
and  advice  to  Mittel — Hamvert  after  map — telephone  wires 
cut — room  one  hundred  and  forty-eight,  corner,  right,  first 
floor,  Palais-Metropole  Hotel,  unoccupied — connecting 
doors — quarter  past  nine  to-night — the  Weasel — Mittel's 
house  later — the  police — look  out  for  both  the  Weasel 
and  the  police,  Jimmie "" 

There  was  more,  several  pages  of  it,  explanations,  speci 
fic  details  down  to  a  minute  description  of  the  locality  and 
plan  of  the  house  on  the  Sound.  Jimmie  Dale,  to'v  intent 
now  to  mutter,  read  on  silently.  At  the  end  he  shuffled  the 
sheets  a  little  abstractedly,  as  his  face  hardened.  Then  his 
fingers  began  to  tear  the  letter  into  little  shreds,  tearing  it 
over  and  over  again,  tearing  the  shreds  into  tiny  particles. 
He  had  not  been  far  wrong.  From  what  the  night  prom 
ised  now,  this  might  well  be  the  last  letter.  Who  knew? 
There  would  be  need  of  all  the  wit  and  luck  and  nerve  to- 
night  that  the  Gray  Seal  had  ever  had  before. 

With  a  jerk,  Jimmie  Dale  roused  himself  from  the  mo 
mentary  reverie  into  which  he  had  fallen;  and,  all  action 


238    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

now,  stuffed  the  torn  pieces  of  the  letter  into  his  trousers 
pocket  to  be  disposed  of  later  in  the  street,  took  off  the  old 
coat  and  slouch  hat  again,  and  resumed  the  disposal  of  Larry 
the  Bat's  effects  under  the  flooring. 

This  accomplished,  he  replaced  the  planking  and  oil 
cloth,  stood  up,  put  on  his  dress  coat  and  light  overcoat,  and, 
from  the  table,  stowed  the  black  silk  mask,  the  automatic, 
the  little  kit  of  tools,  the  flashlight,  and  the  thin  metal  case 
away  in  his  pockets. 

Jimmie  Dale  raised  his  hand  to  the  gas  fixture,  circled 
the  room  with  a  glance  that  missed  no  single  detail — then 
the  light  went  out,  the  door  closed  behind  him,  locked,  a  dark 
shadow  crept  silently  down  the  stairs,  out  through  the  side 
door  into  the  alleyway,  along  the  alleyway  close  to  the  wall 
of  the  tenement  where  it  was  blackest,  and,  satisfied  that  for 
the  moment  there  were  no  passers-by,  emerged  on  the  street, 
walking  leisurely  toward  the  Bowery. 

Once  well  away  from  the  Sanctuary,  however,  Jimmie 
Dale  quickened  his  steps ;  and  twenty  minutes  later,  having 
stopped  but  once  to  telephone  to  his  home  on  Riverside 
Drive  for  his  touring  car,  he  was  briskly  mounting  the  steps 
of  the  St.  James  Club  on  Fifth  Avenue.  Another  twenty 
minutes  after  that,  and  he  had  dismissed  Benson,  his  chauf 
feur,  and,  at  the  wheel  of  his  big,  powerful  machine,  was 
speeding  uptown  for  the  Palais-Metropole  Hotel. 

It  was  twelve  minutes  after  nine  when  he  drew  up  at  the 
curb  in  front  of  the  side  entrance  of  the  hotel — his  watch, 
set  by  guesswork,  had  been  a  little  slow,  and  he  had  corrected 
it  at  the  club.  He  was  replacing  the  watch  in  his  pocket 
as  he  sauntered  around  the  corner,  and  passed  in  through  the 
main  entrance  to  the  big  lobby. 

Jimmie  Dale  avoided  the  elevators — it  was  only  one  flight 
up,  and  elevator  boys  on  occasions  had  been  known  to  be 
observant.  At  the  top  of  the  first  landing,  a  long,  wide, 
heavily  carpeted  corridor  was  before  him.  "  Number  one 
hundred  and  forty-eight,  the  corner  room  on  the  right,"  tho 
Tocsin  had  said.  Jimmie  Dale  walked  nonchalantly  along— 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  239 

past  No.  148.    At  the  lower  end  of  the  hall  a  group  of  peo 
pie  were  gathered  around  the  elevator  doors ;  halfway  down 
the  corridor  a  bell  boy  came  out  of  a  room  and  went  ahead 
of  Jimmie  Dale. 

And  then  Jimmie  Dale  stopped  suddenly,  and  began  to 
retrace  his  steps.  The  group  had  entered  the  elevator,  the 
bell  boy  had  disappeared  around  the  farther  end  of  the  hall 
into  the  wing  of  the  hotel — the  corridor  was  empty.  In  a 
moment  he  was  standing  before  the  door  of  No.  148 ;  in  an 
other,  under  the  persuasion  of  a  little  steel  instrument,  deftly 
manipulated  by  Jimmie  Dale's  slim,  tapering  fingers,  the 
lock  clicked  back,  the  door  opened,  and  he  stepped  inside, 
closing  and  locking  the  door  again  behind  him. 

It  was  already  a  quarter  past  nine,  but  no  one  was  as  yet 
in  the  connecting  room — the  fanlight  next  door  had  been 
dark  as  he  passed.  His  flashlight  swept  about  him,  located 
the  connecting  door — and  went  out.  He  moved  to  the  door, 
tried  it,  and  found  it  locked.  Again  the  little  steel  instru 
ment  came  into  play,  released  the  lock,  and  Jimmie  Dale 
opened  the  door.  Again  the  flashlight  winked.  The  door 
opened  into  a  bathroom  that,  obviously,  at  will,  was  either 
common  to  the  two  rooms  or  could,  by  the  simple  expedient 
of  locking  one  door  or  the  other,  be  used  by  one  of  the 
rooms  alone.  In  the  present  instance,  the  occupant  of  the 
adjoining  apartment  had  taken  "  a  room  with  a  bath." 

Jimmie  Dale  passed  through  the  bathroom  to  the  opposite 
door.  This  was  already  three-quarters  open,  and  swung 
outward  into  the  bedroom,  near  the  lower  end  of  the  room 
by  the  window.  Through  the  crack  of  the  door  by  the 
hinges,  Jimmie  Dale  flashed  his  light,  testing  the  radius  of 
vision,  pushed  the  door  a  few  inches  wider  open,  tested  it 
again  with  the  flashlight — and  retreated  back  into  No.  148, 
closing  the  door  on  his  side  until  it  was  just  ajar. 

He  stood  there  then  silently  waiting.  It  was  Hamvert's 
room  next  door,  and  Hamvert  and  the  Weasel  were  already 
late.  A  step  sounded  outside  in  the  corridor.  Jimmie  Dale 
straightened  intently.  The  step  passed  on  down  the  hall 
way  and  died  away.  A  false  alarm!  Jimmie  Dale  smiled 


240    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

whimsically.  It  was  a  strange  adventure  this  that  confronted 
him,  quite  the  strangest  in  a  way  that  the  Tocsin  had  eve* 
planned — and  the  night  lay  before  him  full  of  p  .r '1  in  its 
extraord;  jtry  complications.  To  win  the  hand  he  must 
block  HL  avert  and  the  Weasel  without  allowing  them  an 
inkling  that  his  interference  was  anything  more  than,  sayv 
the  luck  of  a  hotel  sneak  thief  at  most.  The  Weasel  was  a 
dangerous  man,  one  of  the  slickest  second-story  workers 
in  the  country,  with  safe  cracking  as  one  of  his  favourite  pur 
suits,  a  man  most  earnestly  desired  by  the  police,  provided 
the  latter  could  catch  him  "  with  the  goods."  As  for  Ham 
vert,  he  did  not  know  Hamvert,  who  was  a  stranger  in  New 
York,  except  that  Hamvert  had  fleeced  a  man  named  Michael 
Breen  out  of  his  share  in  a  claim  they  had  had  together 
when  Breen  had  first  gone  to  Alaska  to  try  his  luck,  and 
now,  having  discovered  that  Breen,  when  prospecting  alone 
Romewhere  in  the  interior  a  month  or  so  ago,  had  found 
a  rich  vein  and  had  made  a  map  or  diagram  of  its  location, 
he,  Hamvert,  had  followed  the  other  to  New  York  for  the 
purpose  of  getting  it  by  hook  or  crook.  Breen's  "  find  " 
had  been  too  late ;  taken  sick,  he  had  never  worked  his  claim, 
had  barely  got  back  home  before  he  died,  and  only  in  time 
to  hand  his  wife  the  strange  legacy  of  a  roughly  scrawled 
little  piece  of  paper,  and — Jimmie  Dale  straightened  up 
alertly  once  more.  Steps  again — and  this  time  corning 
from  the  direction  of  the  elevator ;  then  voices ;  then  the 
opening  of  the  door  of  the  next  room;  then  a  voice,  dis 
tinctly  audible: 

"  Pull  up  a  chair,  and  we'll  get  down  to  business.  You're 
late,  as  it  is.  We  haven't  any  time  to  waste,  if  we're  going 
to  wash  pay-dirt  to-night." 

"  Aw,  dat's  all  right !  "  responded  another  voice — quite 
evidently  the  Weasel's.  "  Don't  youse  worry — de  game's 
cinched  to  a  fadeaway." 

There  was  the  sound  of  chairs  being  moved  across  the 
floor.  Jimmie  Dale  slipped  the  black  silk  mask  over  his 
face,  opened  the  door  on  his  side  of  the  bathroom  cautiously, 
and,  without  a  sound,  stepped  into  the  bathroom  that  was 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  241 

lighted  now,  of  course,  by  the  light  streaming  in  through  the 
partially  opened  door  of  Hamvert's  room.  The  two  were 
talking  earnestly  now  in  lower  tones.  Jimmie  Dale  only 
caught  a  word  here  and  there — his  faculties  for  the  moment 
were  concentrated  on  traversing  the  bathroom  silently.  He 
/cached  the  farther  door,  crouched  there,  peered  through  the 
crack — and  the  old  whimsical  smile  flickered  across  his  lips 
\gain. 

The  Palals-Metropole  was  high  class  and  exclusive,  and 
the  Weasel  for  once  looked  quite  the  gentleman,  and,  for  all 
his  sharp,  ferret  face,  not  entirely  out  of  keeping  with  his 
surroundings — else  he  would  never  have  got  farther  than  the 
lobby.  The  other  was  a  short,  thickset,  heavy-jowled  man, 
with  a  great  shock  of  sandy  hair,  and  small  black  eyes  that 
looked  furtively  out  from  overhanging,  bushy  eyebrows. 

"  Well,"  Hamvert  was  saying,  "  the  details  are  your  con 
cern.  What  I  want  is  results.  We  won't  waste  time. 
Vou're  to  be  back  here  by  daylight — only  see  that  there's  no 
come-back." 

"  Leave  it  to  me ! "  returned  the  Weasel,  with  assurance. 
*  How's  dere  goin'  ter  be  any  come-back  ?  Mittel  keeps  it 
in  his  safe,  don't  he?  Well,  gentlemen's  houses  has  been 
robbed  before — an'  dis  job'll  be  a  good  one.  De  geographfy 
stunt  youse  wants  gets  pinched  wid  de  rest,  dat's  all.  It 
disappears — see?  Who's  ter  know  youse  gets  yer  claws  on 
it  ?  It's  just  lost  in  de  shuffle." 

"  Right ! "  agreed  Hamvert  briskly — and  from  his  in 
side,  pocket  produced  a  package  of  crisp  new  bills,  yellow 
backs,  and  evidently  of  large  denominations.  "  Half  down 
and  half  on  delivery — that's  our  deal." 

"  Dat's  wot !  "  assented  the  Weasel  curtly. 

Hamvert  began  to  count  the  bills. 

Jimmie  Dale's  hand  stole  into  his  pocket,  and  came  out  with 
his  handkerchief  and  the  thin  metal  insignia  case.  From  the 
latter,  with  its  little  pair  of  tweezers,  he  took  out  one  of  the 
adhesive  gray  seals.  His  eyes  warily  on  the  two  men,  he 
dropped  the  seal  on  his  handkerchief,  restored  the  thin  metal 


242    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

case  to  his  pocket — and  in  its  stead  the  blue-black  ugly 
zle  of  his  automatic  peeped  from  between  his  fingers. 

"  Five  thousand  down,"  said  Hamvert,  pushing  a  pile  of 
notes  across  the  table,  and  tucking  the  remainder  back  into 
his  pocket ;  "  and  the  other  five's  here  for  you  when  you  get 
back  with  the  map.  Ordinarily,  I  wouldn't  pay  a  penny  in 
advance,  but  since  you  want  it  that  way  and  the  map's  no 
good  to  you  while  the  rest  of  the  long  green  is,  I—  He 

swallowed  his  words  with  a  startled  gulp,  clutched  hastily 
at  the  money  on  the  table,  and  began  to  struggle  up  from  his 
chair  to  his  feet. 

With  a  swift,  noiseless  side-step  through  the  open  door 
Jimmie  Dale  was  standing  in  the  room. 

Jimmie  Dale's  tones  were  conversational.  "  Don't  ga1 
ap,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  coolly.  "  And  take  your  hand  oft 
that  money !  " 

The  Weasel,  whose  back  had  been  to  the  door,  squirmed1 
around  in  his  chair — and  in  his  turn  stared  into  the  muzzlf 
of  Jimmie  Dale's  revolver,  while  his  jaw  dropped  an<f 
sagged. 

"  Good-evening,  Weasel,"  observed  Jimmie  Dale  casually. 
"  I  seem  to  be  in  luck  to-night.  I  got  into  that  room  next 
door,  but  an  empty  room  is  slim  picking.  And  then  it  seemed 
to  me  I  heard  some  one  in  here  mention  five  thousand  dol- 
lare  twice,  which  makes  ten  thousand,  and  which  happens 
to  be  just  exactly  the  sum  I  need  at  the  present  moment — if  I 
can't  get  any  more !  I  haven't  the  honour  of  your  wealthy 
friend's  acquaintance,  but  I  am  really  charmed  to  meet  him. 
You — er — understand,  both  of  you,  that  the  slightest  sound 
might  prove  extremely  embarrassing." 

Hamvert's  face  was  white,  and  he  stirred  uneasily  in  his 
chair ;  but  into  the  Weasel's  face,  the  first  shock  of  surprised 
dismay  past,  came  a  dull,  angry  red,  and  into  the  eyes  a 
vicious  gleam — and  suddenly  he  laughed  shortly. 

"  Why,  youse  damned  fool,"  jeered  the  Weasel,  "  d'youse 
t'ink  youse  can  get  away  wid  dat !  Say,  take  it  from  me, 
youse  are  a  piker !  Say,  youse  make  me  tired.  Wot  d'youse 
t'ink  youse  are?  D'youse  t'ink  dis  is  a  tee-ayter,  an'  dat  youse 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  243 

-tre  a  cheap-skate  actor  strollin'  acrost  de  stage?  Aw,  beat 
it,  youse  make  me  sick !  Why,  say,  youse  pinch  dat  money, 
an'  youse  have  got  de  same  chanst  of  gettin'  outer  dis  hotel  as 
a  guy  has  of  breakin'  outer  Sing  Sing !  By  de  time  youse 
gets  five  feet  from  de  door  of  dis  room  we  has  de  whole 
works  on  yer  neck." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Weasel  ?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale  po- 
ately.  He  carried  his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth  to  cloak  a 
cough — and  his  tongue  touched  the  adhesive  side  of  the  little 
diamond-shaped  gray  seal.  Hand  and  handkerchief  came 
fcack  to  the  table,  and  Jimmie  Dale  leaned  his  weight  care 
lessly  upon  it,  while  the  automatic  in  his  right  hand  still 
covered  the  two  men.  "  Do  you  think  so,  Weasel  ?  "  he  re 
peated  softly.  "  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right ;  and  yet ;  some 
how,  I  am  inclined  to  disagree  with  you.  Let  me  see,  Weasel 
— it  was  Tuesday  night,  two  nights  ago,  wasn't  it,  that  a 
trifling  break  in  Maiden  Lane  at  Thorold  &  Sons  disturbed 
the  police  ?  It  was  a  three-year  job  for  even  a  first  offender, 
ten  for  one  already  on  nodding  terms  with  the  police  and 
fifteen  to  twenty  for — well,  say,  for  a  man  like  you,  Weasel 
— if  he  were  caught!  Am  I  making  myself  quite  plain?" 

The  colour  in  the  Weasel's  cheeks  faded  a  little — his  eyef 
were  holding  in  sudden  fascination  upon  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  I  see  that  I  am,"  observed  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly  "  I 
said,  '  if  he  were  caught,'  you  will  remember.  I  am  going 
to  leave  this  room  in  a  moment,  Weasel,  and  leave  it  entirely 
to  your  discretion  as  to  whether  you  will  think  it  wise  or 
not  to  stir  from  that  chair  for  ten  minutes  after  I  shut  the 
door.  And  now  " — Jimmie  Dale  nonchalantly  replaced  his 
handkerchief  in  his  pocket,  nonchalantly  followed  it  with 
the  banknotes  which  he  picked  up  from  the  table — and 
smiled. 

With  a  gasp,  both  men  had  strained  forward,  and  were 
staring,  wild-eyed,  at  the  gray  seal  stuck  between  them  on 
the  tabletop. 

'*  The  Gray  Seal !  "  whispered  the  Weasel,  and  his 
circled  his  lips. 

Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his  shoulder*. 


244     THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  That  ivas  a  bit  theatrical,  Weasel,"  he  said  apologeti 
cally ;  '  and  yet  not  wholly  unnecessary.  You  will  recafc 
Stangeist,  The  Mope,  Australian  Ike,  and  Clarie  Deane,  and 
can  draw  your  own  inference  as  to  what  might  happen  in 
the  Thorold  affair  if  you  should  be  so  ill-advised  as  to  force 
my  hand.  Permit  me  " — the  slim,  deft  fingers,  like  a  streak 
of  lightning,  were  inside  Hamvert's  coat  pocket  and  out 
again  with  the  remainder  of  the  banknotes — and  Jimmie 
Dale  was  backing  for  the  door — not  the  door  of  the  bath 
room  by  which  he  had  entered,  but  the  door  of  the  room  it 
self  that  opened  on  the  corridor.  There  he  stopped,  and  hia 
hand  swept  around  behind  his  back  and  turned  the  key  in 
the  locked  door.  He  nodded  at  the  two  men,  whose  faces 
were  working  with  incongruously  mingled  expressions  of 
impotent  rage,  bewilderment,  fear,  and  fury — and  opened 
the  door  a  little.  "  Ten  minutes,  Weasel,"  he  said  gently. 
"  I  trust  you  will  not  have  to  use  heroic  measures  to  restrain 
your  friend  for  that  length  of  time,  though  if  it  is  necessary 
I  should  advise  you  for  your  own  sake  to  resort  almost — to 
murder.  I  wish  you  good  evening,  gentlemen." 

The  door  opened  farther;  Jimmie  Dale,  still  facing  in 
ward,  slipped  between  it  and  the  jamb,  whipped  the  mask 
from  his  face,  closed  the  door  softly,  stepped  briskly  but 
without  any  appearance  of  haste  along  the  corridor  t<j  the 
stairs,  descended  the  stairs,  mingled  with  a  crowd  m  the 
lobby  for  an  instant,  walked,  seemingly  a  part  of  it,  with  a 
group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  down  the  hall  to  the  side  en 
trance,  passed  out — and  a  moment  later,  after  drawing  on 
a  linen  dust  coat  which  he  took  from  under  the  seat,  and  ex 
changing  his  hat  for  a  tweed  cap,  the  car  glided  from  the 
curb  and  was  lost  in  a  press  of  traffic  around  the  corner. 

Jimmie  Dale  laughed  a  little  harshly  to  himself.  So  far, 
so  good — but  the  game  was  not  ended  yet  for  all  the  crackle 
of  the  crisp  notes  in  his  pocket.  There  was  still  the  map, 
still  the  robbery  at  Mittel's  house — the  ten-thousand-dollar 
"  theft "  would  not  in  any  way  change  that,  and  it  was  a 
question  of  time  now  to  forestall  any  move  the  Weasel  might 
make. 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  245 

Through  the  city  Jimmie  Dale  alternately  dodged,  spurted, 
tnd  dragged  his  way,  fuming  with  impatience;  but  once 
out  on  the  country  roads  and  headed  toward  New  Rochelle, 
the  big  machine,  speed  limits  thrown  to  the  winds,  roared 
through  the  night — a  gray  streak  of  road  jumping  under  the 
powerful  lamps ;  a  village,  a  town,  a  cluster  of  lights  flashing 
by  him,  the  steady  pur  of  his  sixty-horse-power  engines; 
the  gray  thread  of  open  road  again. 

It  was  just  eleven  o'clock  when  Jimmie  Dale,  the  road 
to  himself  for  the  moment  at  a  spot  a  little  beyond  New 
Rochelle,  extinguished  his  lights,  and  very  carefully  ran  his 
car  off  the  road,  backing  it  in  behind  a  small  clump  of  trees. 
He  tossed  the  linen  dust  coat  back  into  the  car,  and  set  off 
toward  where,  a  little  distance  away,  the  slap  of  waves  from 
the  stiff  breeze  that  was  blowing  indicated  the  shore  line  of 
the  Sound.  There  was  no  moon,  and,  while  it  was  not  partic 
ularly  dark,  objects  and  surroundings  at  best  were  blurred 
and  indistinct ;  but  that,  after  all,  was  a  matter  of  little  con 
cern  to  Jimmie  Dale — the  first  house  beyond  was  Mittel's. 
He  reached  the  water's  edge  and  kept  along  the  shore. 
There  should  be  a  little  wharf,  she  had  said.  Yes ;  there  it 
was — and  there,  too,  was  a  gleam  of  light  from  the  house 
itself. 

Jimmie  Dale  began  to  make  an  accurate  mental  note  of 
his  surroundings.  From  the  little  wharf  on  which  he  now 
stood,  a  path  led  straight  to  the  house,  bisecting  what  ap 
peared  to  be  a  lawn,  trees  to  the  right,  the  house  to  the  left. 
At  the  wharf,  beside  him,  two  motor  boats  were  moored, 
one  on  each  side.  Jimmie  Dale  glanced  at  them,  and,  sud 
denly  attracted  by  the  familiar  appearance  of  one,  inspected 
it  a  little  more  closely.  His  momentarily  awakened  interest 
passed  as  he  nodded  his  head.  It  had  caught  his  attention, 
that  was  all — it  was  the  same  type  and  design,  quite  a  popu 
lar  make,  of  which  there  were  hundreds  around  New  York, 
as  the  one  he  had  bought  that  year  as  a  tender  for  his  yacht, 

He  moved  forward  now  toward  the  house,  the  rear  of 
which  faced  him — the  light  that  flooded  the  lawn  came  from  a 
<tde  window.  Jimmie  Dale  wiis  figuring  the  time  and  dis- 


*46    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

tanr.e  from  New  York  as  he  crept  cautiously  along.  How 
quickly  could  the  Weasel  make  the  journey?  The  Weasel 
would  undoubtedly  come,  and  if  there  was  a  convenient  train 
it  might  prove  a  close  race — but  in  his  own  favour  was  Me 
fact  that  it  would  probably  take  the  Weasel  quite  some  1  ttle 
time  to  recover  his  equilibrium  from  his  encounter  with  the 
Gray  Seal  in  the  Palais-Metropole,  also  the  further  fact  that, 
from  the  Weasel's  viewpoint,  there  was  no  desperate  need  of 
haste.  Jimmie  Dale  crossed  the  lawn,  and  edged  along  in  the 
shadows  of  the  house  to  where  the  light  streamed  out  from 
•what  now  proved  to  be  open  French  windows.  It  was  a 
fair  presumption  that  he  would  have  an  hour  to  the  good  on 
the  Weasel. 

The  sill  was  little  more  than  a  couple  of  feet  from  the 
ground,  and,  from  a  crouched  position  on  his  knees  below  the 
window,  Jimmie  Dale  raised  himself  slowly  and  peered 
guardedly  inside.  The  room  was  empty.  He  listened  a  mo 
ment — the  black  silk  mask  was  on  his  face  again — and  with 
a  quick,  agile,  silent  spring  he  was  in  the  room. 

And  then,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  Jimmie  Dale  stood 
motionless,  staring  around  him,  an  expression,  ironical,  sar 
donic,  creeping  into  his  face.  The  robbery  had  already  been 
committed!  At  the  lower  end  of  the  room  everything  was  in 
confusion ;  the  door  of  a  safe  swung  wide,  the  drawers  of 
a  desk  had  been  wrenched  out,  even  a  liqueur  stand,  on 
which  were  well-filled  decanters,  had  been  broken  open,  and 
the  contents  of  safe  and  desk,  the  thief's  discards  as  it  were, 
littered  the  floor  in  all  directions. 

For  an  instant  Jimmie  Dale,  his  eyes  narrowed  ominously, 
surveyed  the  scene ;  then,  with  a  sort  of  professional  instinct 
aroused,  he  stepped  forward  to  examine  the  safe — and  sud 
denly  darted  behind  the  desk  instead.  Steps  sounded  in  the 
hall.  The  door  opened — a  voice  reached  him : 

"  The  master  said  I  was  to  shut  the  windows,  and  I  haven't 
dast  to  go  in.  And  he'll  be  back  with  the  police  in  a  minute 
now.  Come  on  in  with  me,  Minnie." 

"  Lord  !  "  exclaimed  another  voice.  "  Ain't  it  a  good  thing 
*he  missus  is  away.  She'd  have  highsteericks  !  " 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  247 

Steps  came  somewhat  hesitantly  across  the  floor — from 
behind  the  desk,  Jimmie  Dale  could  see  that  it  was  a  maid, 
accompanied  by  a  big,  rawboned  woman,  sleeves  rolled  to  the 
elbows  over  brawny  arms,  presumably  the  Mittels'  cook. 

The  maid  closed  the  French  windows,  there  were  no 
others  in  the  room,  and  bolted  them ;  and,  having  gained  a 
little  confidence,  gazed  about  her. 

"  My,  but  wasn't  he  cute ! "  she  ejaculated.  "  Cut  the 
telephone  wires,  he  did.  And  ain't  he  made  an  awful  mess ! 
But  the  master  said  we  wasn't  to  touch  nothing  till  the  police 
saw  it." 

"  And  to  think  of  it  happening  in  our  house !  "  observed 
the  cook  heavily,  her  hands  on  her  hips,  her  arms  akimbo. 
"  It'll  all  be  in  the  papers,  and  mabbe  they'll  put  our  pictures 
in,  too." 

"  I  won't  get  over  it  as  long  as  I  live !  "  declared  the  maid. 
"  The  yell  Mr.  Mittel  gave  when  he  came  downstairs  and 
put  his  head  in  here,  and  then  him  shouting  and  using  the 
most  terrible  language  into  the  telephone,  and  then  finding 
the  wires  cut.  And  me  following  him  downstairs  half  dead 
with  fright.  And  he  shouts  at  me.  *  Bella,'  he  shouts,  '  shut 
those  windows,  but  don't  you  touch  a  thing  in  that  room. 
I'm  going  for  the  police.'  And  then  he  rushes  out  of  the 
house." 

"  I  was  going  to  bed,"  said  the  cook,  picking  'jp  her  cue 
for  what  was  probably  the  twentieth  rehearsal  of  the  scene, 
"  when  I  heard  Mr.  Mittel  yell,  and — Lord,  Bella,  there  he 
is  now !  " 

Jimmie  Dale's  hands  clenched.  He,  too,  had  caught  the 
scuffle  of  footsteps,  those  of  three  or  four  men  at  least,  on 
the  front  porch.  There  was  one  way,  only  one,  of  escape — 
through  the  French  windows !  It  was  a  matter  of  seconds 
only  before  Mittel,  with  the  police  at  his  heels,  would  be  in 
the  room — and  Jimmie  Dale  sprang  to  his  feet.  There  was  a 
wild  scream  of  terror  from  the  maid,  echoed  by  another 
from  the  cook — and,  still  screaming,  both  women  fled  for  the 
door. 

"  Mr.  Mittel  \    Mr.  Mittel  J  "  shrieked  the  maid— she  had 


flung  herself  out  into  the  hall.  "  He's — he's  back 
again ! " 

Jimmie  Dale  was  at  the  French  windows,  tearing  at  the 
bolts.  They  stuck.  Shouts  came  from  the  front  entryway. 
He  wrenched  viciously  at  the  fastenings.  They  gave  now. 
The  windows  flew  open.  He  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  A 
man,  Mittel  presumably  sirce  he  was  the  only  one  not  in 
uniform,  was  springing  :nto  the  room.  There  was  a  blur  of 
forms  and  brass  buttons  behind  Mittel — and  Jimmie  Dale 
leaped  to  the  lawn,  speeding  across  it  like  a  deer. 

But  quick  as  he  ran,  Jimmie  Dale's  brain  was  quicker, 
pointing  the  single  chance  that  seemed  open  to  him.  The 
motor  boat !  It  seemed  like  a  God-given  piece  of  luck  tha( 
he  had  noticed  it  '-as  like  his  own ;  there  would  be  no  blind, 
and  that  meant  fatal,  blunders  in  the  dark  over  its  mechan 
ism,  and  he  could  start  it  up  in  a  moment — just  the  time  to 
cast  her  off,  that  was  all  he  needed. 

The  shor.ts  swelled  behind  him.  Timmie  Dale  was  running 
for  his  life.  He  flung  a  glance  backward.  One  form— Mit 
tel,  he  was  certain — was  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  in  the  rear. 
The  others  wer^  just  emerging  from  the  French  windows — 
grotesque,  leaung  things  they  looked,  in  the  light  that 
streamed  out  behind  them  from  the  room. 

Jimmie  Dale's  feet  pounded  the  planking  of  the  wharf 
He  stoopc.4  and  snatched  at  the  mooring  line.  Mittel  was 
almost  at  the  wharf.  It  seemed  an  age,  a  year  to  Jimmie 
Dale  before  the  line  was  clear.  Shouts  rang  still  louder 
across  the  lawn — the  police,  racing  in  a  pack,  were  more 
than  halfway  from  the  house.  He  flung  the  line  into  the 
boat,  sprnn?  in  after  it — and  Mittel,  looming  over  him, 
grasped  at  the  boat's  gumvhale. 

Both  men  were  panting  from  their  exertions. 

"  Let  go !  "  snarled  Jimmie  Dale  between  clenched  teeth. 

Mittel's  answer  was  a  hoarse,  gasping  shout  to  the  police 
to  hurry — and  then  Mittel  reeled  back,  measuring  his  length 
upon  the  wharf  from  a  blow  with  a  boat  hook  full  across  the 
face,  driven  with  a  sudden,  untamed  savagery  that  seemed 
lor  the  moment  to  have  mastered  Jimmie  Dale. 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  246 

There  was  no  time — not  a  second — not  the  fraction  of  a 
second.  Desperately,  frantically  he  shoved  the  boat  clear 
of  the  wharf.  Once — twice — three  times  he  turned  the 
engine  over  without  success — and  then  the  boat  leaped  for 
ward.  Jimmie  Dale  snatched  the  mask  from  his  face,  and 
jumped  for  the  steering  wheel.  The  police  were  rushing 
out  along  the  wharf.  He  could  just  faintly  discern  Mittel 
now — the  man  was  staggering  about,  his  hands  clapped  to 
his  face.  A  peremptory  order  to  halt,  coupled  with  a  threat 
to  fire,  rang  out  sharply — and  Jimmie  Dale  flung  himself 
flat  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  The  wharf  edge  seemed  to 
open  in  little,  crackling  jets  of  flame,  came  the  roar  of  re 
ports  like  a  miniature  battery  in  action,  then  the  flop,  flop, 
flop,  as  the  lead  tore  up  the  water  around  him,  the  duller 
ihud  as  a  bullet  buried  its  nose  in  the  boat's  side,  and  the 
curious  rip  and  squeak  as  a  splinter  flew.  Then  Mittel's 
roice,  high-pitched,  as  though  in  pain: 

"  Can't  any  of  you  run  a  motor  boat  ?  He's  got  me  bad, 
I'm  afraid.  That  other  one  there  is  twice  as  fast." 

"  Sure !  "  another  voice  responded  promptly.  "  And  if 
that's  right,  he's  run  his  head  into  a  trap.  Cast  loose,  there, 
MacVeay,  and  pile  in,  all  of  you !  You  go  back  to  the  house, 
Mr.  Mittel,  and  fix  yourself  up.  We'll  get  him !  " 

Jimmie  Dale's  lips  thinned.  It  was  true!  If  the  other 
boat  had  any  speed  at  all,  it  was  only  a  question  of  time  be 
fore  he  would  be  overtaken.  The  only  point  at  issue  was  how 
much  time.  It  was  dark — that  was  in  his  favour — but  it  was 
not  so  dark  but  that  a  boat  could  be  distinguished  on  the 
water  for  quite  a  distance,  for  a  longer  distance  than  he 
could  hope  to  put  between  them.  There  was  no  chance  of 
eluding  the  police  that  way !  The  keen,  facile  brain  that  had 
saved  the  Gray  Seal  a  hundred  times  before  was  weaving, 
planning,  discarding,  eliminating,  scheming  a  way  out — with 
death,  ruin,  disaster  the  price  of  failure.  His  eyes  swept 
the  dim,  irregular  outline  of  the  shore.  To  his  right,  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  where  he  had  left  his  car,  and  per 
haps  a  mile  ahead,  as  well  as  he  could  judge,  the  land  seemed 
tc  run  out  into  a  point.  Jimmie  Dale  headed  for  it  instantly, 


250    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

If  he  could  reach  it  with  a  little  lead  to  the  good,  there  waa 
a  chance!  It  would  take,  say,  six  minutes,  granting  the 
boat  a  speed  of  ten  miles  an  hour — and  she  could  do  that 
The  others  could  hardly  overtake  him  in  that  time — they 
hadn't  got  started  yet.  He  could  hear  them  still  shouting 
and  talking  at  the  wharf.  And  Mittel's  "twice  as  fast" 
was  undoubtedly  an  exaggeration,  anyhow. 

A  minute  more  passed,  another — and  then,  astern,  Jimmie 
Dale  caught  the  racket  from  the  exhaust  of  a  high-powered 
engine,  and  a  white  streak  seemed  to  shoot  out  upon  the 
surface  of  the  water  from  where,  obscured  now,  he  placed 
the  wharf.  A  quarter-mile  lead,  roughly  four  hundred  yards ; 
yes,  he  had  as  much  as  that — but  that,  too,  was  very  little. 

He  bent  over  his  engine,  coaxing  it,  nursing  it  to  its 
highest  efficiency;  his  eyes  strained  now  upon  the  point 
ahead,  now  upon  his  pursuers  behind.  He  was  running  with 
the  wind,  thank  Heaven !  or  the  small  boat  would  have  had 
a  further  handicap — it  was  rolling  up  quite  a  sea. 

The  steering  gear,  he  found,  was  corded  along  the  side 
of  the  boat,  permitting  its  manipulation  from  almost  any 
position,  and,  abruptly  now,  Jimmie  Dale  left  the  engine  to 
rummage  through  the  little  locker  in  the  stern  of  the  boat. 
But  as  he  rummaged,  his  eyes  held  speculatively  on  the  boat 
astern.  She  was  gaining  unquestionably,  steadily,  but  not 
as  fast  as  he  had  feared.  He  would  still  have  a  hundred 
yards'  lead,  at  least,  abreast  the  point — and,  he  was  smiling 
grimly  now,  a  hundred  yards  there  meant  life  to  the  Gray 
Seal !  The  locker  was  full  of  a  heterogeneous  collection  of 
odds  and  ends — a  suit  of  oilskins,  tools,  tins,  and  cans  of 
various  sizes  and  descriptions.  Jimmie  Dale  emptied  the 
contents,  some  sort  of  powder,  of  a  small,  round  tin  box 
overboard,  and  from  his  pocket  took  out  the  banknotes, 
crammed  them  into  the  box,  crammed  his  watch  in  on  top 
of  them,  and  screwed  the  cover  on  tightly.  His  fingers 
were  flying  now.  A  long  strip  torn  from  the  trousers'  leg 
of  the  oilskins  was  wrapped  again  and  again  around  the 
box — and  the  box  was  stuffed  into  his  pocket. 

The  nash  of  a  revolver  shot  cut  the  blackness  behind 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE 

(then  another,  and  another.  They  were  firing  in  a  continuous 
stream  again.  It  was  fairly  long  range,  but  there  was  al 
ways  the  chanc«>of  a  stray  bullet  finding  its  mark.  Jimmie 
Dale,  crouching  low,  made  his  way  to  the  bow  of  the  boat 
again. 

The  point  was  looming  almost  abreast  now.  He  edged 
in  nearer,  to  hug  it  as  closely  as  he  dared  risk  the  d-pth 
of  the  water.  Behind,  remorseles  ly,  the  other  boat  was 
steadily  closing  the  gap ;  and  the  shots  were  not  all  wild- 
one  struck,  with  a  curious  singing  sound,  on  sow  piece  of 
metal  a  foot  from  his  elbow.  Closer  to  the  shore,  running 
now  parallel  with  the  head  of  the  point,  Jimmie  Dale  again 
edged  in  the  boat,  his  jaws,  clamped,  working  in  little 
twitches. 

And  then  suddenly,  with  a  swift,  appraising  glance  be 
hind  him,  he  swerved  the  boat  from  her  course  and  headed 
for  the  shore — not  directly,  but  diagonally  across  the  little 
bay  that,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  point,  had  now  opened 
out  before  him.  He  was  close  in  with  the  edge  of  the  point, 
ten  yards  from  it,  sweeping  past  it — the  point  itself  came 
between  the  two  boats,  hiding  them  from  each  other — and 
Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  long  spring,  dove  from  the  boat's  side  to 
the  water. 

The  momentum  from  the  boat  as  he  sank  robbed  him  for 
an  instant  of  all  control  over  himself,  and  he  twisted,  doubled 
up,  and  rolled  over  and  over  beneath  the  water — but  the 
next  moment  his  head  was  above  the  surface  again,  and  he 
was  striking  out  swiftly  for  the  shore.  It  was  only  a  few 
yards — but  in  a  few  seconds  the  pursuing  boat,  too,  would 
have  rounded  the  point.  His  feet  touched  bottom.  It  was 
haste  now,  nothing  else,  that  counted.  The  drum  of  the 
racing  engines,  the  crackling  roar  of  the  exhaust  from  the 
oncoming  boat  was  in  his  ears.  He  flung  himself  upon  the 
shore  and  down  behind  a  rock  Around  the  point,  past 
him,  tore  the  police  boat,  dark  forms  standing  clustered 
in  the  bow — and  then  a  sudden  shout : 

"  There  she  is !  See  her  ?  She's  heading  into  the  ha* 
for  the  shore  1 " 


852    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Jimmie  Dr.le's  lips  relaxed.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
they  had  sighted  their  quarry  again — a  perfect  fusillade  of 
revolver  shots  directed  at  the  now  empt^boat  was  quite 
sufficient  proof  of  that!  With  something  that  was  almost 
a  chuckle,  Jimmie  Dale  straightened  up  from  behind  the 
rock  and  began  to  run  back  along  the  shore.  The  little 
motor  boat  would  have  grounded  long  before  they  overtook 
her,  and,  thinking  naturally  enough,  that  he  had  leaped 
ashore  from  her,  they  would  go  thrashing  through  the  woods 
and  fields  searching  for  him ! 

It  was  a  longer  way  back  by  the  shore,  a  good  deal  longer ; 
now  over  rough,  rocky  stretches  where  he  stumbled  in  the 
darkness,  now  through  marshy,  sodden  ground  where  he 
sank  as  in  a  quagmire  time  and  again  over  his  ankles.  It 
was  even  longer  than  he  had  counted  on,  and  time,  with  the 
Weasel  on  one  hand  and  the  return  of  the  police  on  the 
other,  was  a  factor  to  be  reckoned  with  again,  as,  a  half 
hour  later,  Jimmie  Dale  stole  across  the  lawn  of  Mittel's 
house  for  the  second  time  that  night,  and  for  the  second 
time  crouched  beneath  the  open  French  windows. 

Masked  again,  the  water  still  dripping  from  what  were 
once  immaculate  evening  clothes  but  which  now  sagged 
limply  about  him,  his  collar  a  pasty  string  around  his  neck, 
the  mud  and  dirt  splashed  to  his  knees,  Jimmie  Dale  was  a 
disreputable  and  incongruous-looking  object  as  he  crouched 
there,  shivering  uncomfortably  from  his  immersion  in  spite 
ef  his  exertions.  Inside  the  room,  Mittel  passed  the  windows, 
pacing  the  floor,  one  side  of  his  face  badly  cut  and  bruised 
from  the  blow  with  the  boat  hook — and  as  he  passed,  his 
back  turned  for  an  instant,  Jimmie  Dale  stepped  into  the 
room. 

Mittel  whirled  at  the  sound,  and,  with  a  suppressed  cry, 
instinctively  drew  back — Jimmie  Dale's  automatic  was 
dangling  carelessly  in  his  r'ght  hand. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  a  trifle  melodramatic,"  observed  Jimmie 
Dale  apologetically,  surveying  his  own  bedraggled  person; 
3*  but  I  assure  you  it  is  neither  intentional  nor  for  effect.  As 
u  *,  t  was  afraid  I  would  be  late.  Pardon  me  if  I  take  the 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  253 

liberty  of  helping  myself ;  one  gets  a  chill  in  wet  clothes  so 
easily " — he  passed  to  the  liqueur  stand,  poured  out  a 
generous  portion  from  one  of  the  decanters,  and  tossed  it  off. 

Mittel  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  Stupefaction,  surprise, 
and  a  very  obvious  regard  for  Jimmie  Dale's  revolver 
mingled  themselves  in  a  helpless  expression  on  his  face. 

Jimmie  Dale  set  down  his  glass  and  pointed  to  a  chair  in 
front  of  the  desk. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Mittel,"  he  invited  pleasantly.  "  It  will 
be  quite  apparent  to  you  that  I  have  not  time  to  prolong  our 
interview  unnecessarily,  in  view  of  the  possible  return  of  the 
police  at  any  moment,  but  you  might  as  well  be  comfortable. 
You  will  pardon  me  again  if  I  take  another  liberty  " — he 
crossed  the  room,  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  door 
leading  into  the  hall,  and  returned  to  the  desk.  "  Sit  down, 
Mr.  Mittel ! "  he  repeated,  a  sudden  rasp  in  his  voice. 

Mittel,  none  too  graciously,  now  seated  himself. 

"  Look  here,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  burst  out,  "  you're  carry* 
ing  things  with  a  pretty  high  hand,  aren't  you?  You  seem 
to  have  eluded  the  police  for  the  moment,  somehow,  but  let 
me  tell  you  I " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Jimmie  Dale  softly,  "  let  me  tell  you— 
}11  there  is  to  be  told."  He  leaned  over  the  desk  and  stare<f 
*-udely  at  the  bruise  on  Mittel's  face.  "  Rather  a  nasty 
crack,  that,"  he  remarked. 

Mittel's  fists  clenched,  and  an  angry  flush  swept  his  cheeks. 

"  I'd  have  made  it  a  good  deal  harder,"  said  Jimmie  Dale, 
with  sudden  insolence,  "  if  I  hadn't  been  afraid  of  putting 
you  out  of  business  and  so  precluding  the  possibility  of  this 
little  meeting.  Now  then  " — the  revolver  swung  upward  and 
held  steadily  on  a  line  with  Mittel's  eyes — "  I'll  trouble  you 
for  the  diagram  of  that  Alaskan  claim  that  belongs  to  Mrs. 
Michael  Breen !  " 

Mittel,  staring  fascinated  into  the  little,  round,  black 
muzzle  of  the  automatic,  edged  back  in  his  chair. 

"  So — so  that's  what  you're  after,  is  it  ?  "  he  jerked  out. 
*'  Well " — he  laughed  unnaturally  and  waved  his  hand  at 
the  disarray  of  the  room — "  it's  been  stolen  already." 


254    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"I  know  that,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  grimly.     "By — yout* 

"  Me !  "  Mittel  started  up  in  his  chair,  a  whiteness  creeping 
into  his  face.  "Me!  I— I " 

"  Sit  dov.  n ! "  Jimmie  Dale's  voice  rang  out  ominously 
cold.  "  I  haven't  any  time  to  spare.  You  can  appreciate 
that.  But  even  if  the  police  return  before  that  map  is  in 
my  possession,  they  will  still  be  too  late  as  far  as  you  are 
concerned  Do  you  understand?  Furthermore,  if  I  am 
caught — you  are  ruined.  Let  me  make  it  quite  plain  thc.t 
I  know  the  details  of  your  little  game.  You  are  a  curb 
broker,  Mr.  Mittel — ostensibly  In  reality,  you  run  what  is 
nothing  better  than  an  exceedingly  profitable  bucket  shop. 
THe  Weasel  has  been  a  customer  and  also  a  stool  for  you 
for  years.  How  Hamvert  met  the  Weasel  is  unimportant — 
he  came  East  with  the  intention  of  getting  in  touch  with  a 
slick  crook  to  help  him — the  Weasel  is  the  coincidence,  that 
is  all.  T  quite  understand  that  you  have  never  met  Hamvert, 
nor  Hamvert  you,  nor  that  Hamvert  was  aware  that  you  and 
the  Weasel  had  anything  to  do  with  one  another  and  were 
playing  in  together — but  that  equally  is  unimportant.  WTien 
Hamvert  engaged  the  Weasel  for  ten  thousand  dollars  to 
get  the  map  from  you  for  him,  the  Weasel  chose  the  line 
of  least  resistance.  He  knew  you,  and  approached  you  with 
an  offer  to  split  the  money  in  return  for  the  map.  It  was 
not  a  question  of  your  accepting  his  offer — it  was  simply  a 
matter  of  how  you  could  do  it  and  still  protect  yourself. 
The  Weasel  was  well  qualified  to  point  the  way — a  fake 
robbery  of  your  house  would  answer  the  purpose  admirably 
— you  could  not  be  held  either  legally  or  morally  responsible 
for  a  document  that  was  placed,  unsolicited  by  you,  in  your 
possession,  if  it  were  stolen  from  you." 

Mittel's  face  was  ashen,  colourless.  His  hands  were  open 
ing  and  shutting  with  nervous  twitches  on  the  top  of  the 
desk. 

Jimmie  Dale's  lips  curled. 

"  But " — Jimmie  Dale  was  clipping  off  his  words  now 
viciously — "  neither  you  nor  the  Weasel  were  willing  to  trust 
Hie  other  implicitly — perhaps  you  know  each  other  too  well 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE 

You  were  unwilling  to  turn  over  the  map  until  you  had  re 
ceived  your  share  of  the  money,  and  you  were  equally  un 
willing  to  turn  it  over  until  you  were  safe;  that  is,  until  you 
had  engineered  your  fake  robbery  even  to  the  point  of  notify 
ing  the  police  that  it  had  been  committed ;  the  Weasel,  on 
the  other  hand,  had  some  scruples  about  parting  with  any  of 
the  money  without  getting  the  map  in  one  hand  before  he 
let  go  of  the  banknotes  with  the  other.  It  was  very  simply 
arranged,  however,  and  to  your  mutual  satisfaction.  While 
you  robbed  your  own  house  this  evening,  he  was  to  get  half 
the  money  in  advance  from  Hamvert,  giving  Hamvert  t« 
understand  that  he  had  planned  to  commit  the  robbery  him 
self  to-night.  He  was  to  come  out  here  then,  receive  the 
map  from  you  in  exchange  for  your  share  of  the  money, 
return  to  Hamvert  with  the  map,  and  receive  in  turn  his  own 
share.  I  might  say  that  Hamvert  actually  paid  down  the 
advance — and  it  was  perhaps  unfortunate  for  you  that  you 
paid  such  scrupulous  attention  to  d  "tails  as  to  cut  your  own 
telephone  wires!  I  had  not,  of  course,  an  exact  knowledge 
of  the  hour  or  minute  in  which  you  proposed  to  stage  your 
little  play  here.  The  object  of  my  first  visit  a  little  while 
ago  was  to  forestall  your  turning  the  diagram  over  to  the 
Weasel.  Circumstances  favoured  you  for  the  moment.  I 
am  back  again,  however,  for  the  same  purpose — the  map !  " 

Mittel,  in  a  cowed  way,  was  huddled  back  in  his  chair. 
He  smiled  miserably  at  Jimmie  Dale. 

"Quick!"  Jimmie  Dale  flung  out  the  word  in  a  sharp, 
peremptory  bark.  "  Do  you  need  to  be  told  that  the 
cartridges  are  dry  ?  " 

Mittel's  hand,  trembling,  went  into  his  pocket  and  pro 
duced  an  envelope. 

"  Open  it !  "  commanded  Jimmie  Dale.  "  And  lay  it  on 
the  desk,  so  that  I  can  read  it — I  am  too  wet  to  touch  it." 

Mittel  obeyed — like  a  dog  that  has  been  whipped. 

A  glance  at  the  paper,  and  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  lifted 
again — to  sweep  the  floor  of  the  room.  He  pointed  to  a  pile 
of  books  and  documents  in  one  corner  that  had  been  thrown 
cut  of  the  safe- 


256    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Go  over  there  and  pick  up  that  check  book !  "  he  ordered 
tersely. 

"What  for?"  Mittel  made  feeble  protest. 

"  Never  mind  what  for !  "  snapped  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Gc 
and  get  it — and  hurry!" 

Once  more  Mittel  obeyed — and  dropped  the  book  hesitantly 
on  the  desk. 

Jimmie  Dale  stared  silently,  insolently,  contemptuously  at 
the  other. 

Mittel  stirred  uneasily,  sat  down,  shifted  his  feet,  and  his 
fingers  fumbled  aimlessly  over  the  top  of  the  desk. 

"  Compared  with  you,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  the  Weasel,  ay,  and  Hamvert,  too,  crooks  though  they 
are,  are  gentlemen !  Michael  Breen,  as  he  died,  told  his  wife 
to  take  that  paper  to  some  one  she  could  trust,  who  would 
help  her  and  tell  her  what  to  do ;  and,  knowing  no  one  to  go 
to,  but  because  she  scrubbed  your  floors  and  therefore 
thought  you  were  a  fine  gentleman,  she  came  timidly  to  you, 
and  trusted  you — you  cur !  " 

Jimmie  Dale  laughed  suddenly — not  pleasantly.  Mittel 
shivered. 

"  Hamvert  and  Breen  were  partners  out  there  in  Alaska 
when  Breen  first  went  out,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  slowly,  pulling 
the  tin  can  wrapped  in  oilskin  from  his  pocket.  "  Hamvert 
swindled  Breen  out  of  the  one  strike  he  made,  and  Mrs. 
Breen  and  her  little  girl  back  here  were  reduced  to  poverty. 
The  amount  of  that  swindle  was,  I  understand,  fifteen  thou 
sand  dollars.  I  have  ten  of  it  here,  contributed  by  the 
Weasel  and  Hamvert;  and  you  will.  I  think,  recognise 
therein  a  certain  element  of  poetic  justice— but  I  am  still 
short  five  thousand  dollars." 

Jimmie  Dale  removed  the  cover  from  the  tin  can.  Mittei 
jazed  at  the  contents  numbly. 

"  You  perhaps  did  not  hear  me?"  prompted  Jimmie  Dale 
coldly.  "  I  am  still  short  five  thousand  dollars." 

Mittel  circled  his  lips  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

"The  balance  of  the  amount."     There  was  an  orainotw 


TWO  CROOKS  AND  A  KNAVE  257 

quiet  in  Jimmie  Dale's  voice.  "  A  check  payable  to  Mrs 
Michael  Breen  for  five  thousand  dollars." 

"  I — I  haven't  got  that  much  in  the  bank,"  Mittel  fenced, 
stammering. 

"  No  ?  Then  I  should  advise  you  to  see  that  you  have 
by  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  morning !  "  returned  Jimmie  Dale 
curtly.  "  Make  out  that  check  !  " 

Mittel  hesitated.  The  revolver  edged  insistently  a  little 
farther  across  the  desk — and  Mittel,  picking  up  a  pen,  wrote 
feverishly.  He  tore  the  check  from  its  stub,  and,  with  a 
snarl,  pushed  it  toward  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Fold  it !  "  instructed  Jimmie  Dale,  in  the  same  curt  tones. 
*  And  fold  that  diagram  with  it.  Put  them  both  in  this  box. 
Thank  you !  "  He  wrapped  the  oilskin  around  the  box 
again,  and  returned  the  box  to  his  pocket.  And  again  with 
that  insolent,  contemptuous  stare,  he  surveyed  the  man  at 
the  desk — then  he  backed  to  the  French  windows.  "  It 
might  be  as  well  to  remind  you,  Mittel,"  he  cautioned  sternly, 
u  that  if  for  anv  reason  this  check  is  not  honoured,  whether 
through  lack  of  funds  or  an  attempt  by  you  to  stop  payment, 
you'll  be  in  a  cell  in  the  Tombs  to-morrow  for  this  night's 
work — that  is  quite  understood,  isn't  it?" 

Mittel  was  on  his  feet — sweat  glistened  on  his  forehead. 

"  My  Hod !  "  he  cried  out  shrilly.    "  Who  are  you?  " 

And  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  and  stepped  out  on  the  lawn. 

"  Ask  the  Weasel,"  said  Jimmie  Dale — and  the  next 
instant,  lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  house,  was  running  for  his 
ear. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ALIBI 

TT\EATH  to  the  Gray  Seal!" — through  the  underworld, 
^~^  in  dens  and  dives  that  sheltered  from  the  law  the 
vultures  that  preyed  upon  society,  prompted  by  self-fear,  by 
secret  dread,  by  reason  of  their  very  inability  to  carry  out 
their  purpose,  the  whispered  sentence  grew  daily  more 
venomous,  more  insistent.  "  The  Gray  Seal,  dead  or  alive — • 
but  the  Gray  Seal! "  It  was  the  "  standing  orders  "  of  the 
police.  Railed  at  by  a  populace  who  angrily  demanded  at 
its  hands  this  criminal  of  criminals,  mocked  at  and  threatened 
by  a  virulent  press,  stung  to  madness  by  the  knowledge  of 
its  own  impotence,  flaunted  impudently  to  its  face  by  this 
mysterious  Gray  Seal  to  whose  door  the  law  laid  a  hundred 
crimes,  for  whom  the  bars  of  a  death  cell  in  Sing  Sing  was 
the  certain  goal  could  he  but  be  caught,  the  police,  to  a  man, 
was  like  an  uncaged  beast  that,  flicked  to  the  raw  by  some 
unseen  assailant  and  murderous  in  its  fury,  was  crouched  to 
strike.  Grim  paradox — a  common  bond  that  linked  the 
hands  of  the  law  with  those  that  outraged  it ! 

Death  to  the  Gray  Seal!  Was  it,  at  last,  the  beginning 
of  the  end?  Jimmie  Dale,  as  Larry  the  Bat,  unkempt,  dis 
reputable  in  appearance,  supposed  dope  fiend,  a  figure 
familiar  to  every  denizen  below  the  dead  line,  skulked  along 
the  narrow,  ill-lighted  street  of  the  East  Side  that,  on  the 
corner  ahead,  boasted  the  notorious  resort  to  which  Bristol 
Bob  had  paid  the  doubtful,  if  appropriate,  compliment  of 
giving  his  name.  From  under  the  rim  of  his  battered  hat, 
Jimmie  Dale's  eyes,  veiled  by  half-closed,  well-simulated 
drug-laden  lids,  missed  no  detail  either  of  his  surroundings 
or  pertaining  to  the  passers-by.  Though  already  late  in  tfcue 

258 


THE  ALIBI  259 

evening,  half-naked  children  played  in  the  gutters ;  hawkers 
of  multitudinous  commodities  cried  their  wares  under  gaso 
line  banjo  torches  affixed  to  their  pushcarts  ;  shawled  women 
of  half  a  dozen  races,  and  men  equally  cosmopolitan,  loitered 
at  the  curb,  or  blocked  the  pavement,  or  brushed  by  him. 
Now  a  man  passed  him,  flinging  a  greeting  from  the  cornel 
of  his  mouth  ;  now  another,  always  without  movement  of  the 
lips — and  Jimmie  Dale  answered  them — from  the  corner  oi 
his  mouth. 

But  while  his  eyes  were  alert,  his  mind  was  only  sub 
consciously  attune  to  his  surroundings.  Was  it  indeed  the 
beginning  of  the  end?  Some  day,  he  had  told  himself  often 
enough,  the  end  must  come.  Was  it  coming  now,  surely, 
with  a  sort  of  grim  implacability — when  it  was  too  late  to 
escape!  Slowly,  but  inexorably,  even  his  personal  freedom 
of  action  was  narrowing,  being  limited,  and,  ironically 
enough,  through  the  very  conditions  he  had  himself  created 
as  an  avenue  of  escape. 

It  was  not  only  the  police  now;  it  was,  far  more  to  be 
feared,  the  underworld  as  well.  In  the  old  days,  the  role  of 
I^arry  the  Bat  had  been  assumed  at  intervals,  at  his  own 
discretion,  when,  in  a  corner,  he  had  no  other  way  of  escape ; 
now  it  was  forced  upon  him  almost  daily.  The  character 
of  1-arry  the  Bat  could  no  longer  be  discarded  at  will.  He 
had  flung  down  the  gauntlet  to  the  underworld  when,  as 
the  Gray  Seal,  he  had  closed  the  prison  doors  behind 
Stangeist,  The  Mope,  Australian  Ike,  and  Clarie  Deane,  and 
the  underworld  had  picked  the  gauntlet  up.  Betrayed,  as 
they  believed,  by  the  one  who,  though  unknown  to  them, 
they  had  counted  the  greatest  among  themselves,  and  each 
one  fearful  that  his  own  betrayal  might  come  next,  every 
crook,  every  thug  in  the  Bad  Lands  now  eyed  his  oldest  pal 
with  suspicion  and  distrust,  and  each  was  a  self -constituted 
sleuth,  with  the  prod  of  self-preservation  behind  him,  sworn 
to  the  accomplishment  of  that  unhallowed  slogan — death  to 
the  Gray  Seal.  Almost  daily  now  he  must  show  himself 
as  Larry  the  Bat  in  some  gathering  of  the  underworld — a 
prolonged  ftVsence  from  bis  haunts  was  not  merely  to  invite 


260    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

certain  suspicion,  where  all  were  suspicious  of  each  other, 
it  was  to  invite  certain  disaster.  He  had  now  either  to  carry 
the  role  like  a  little  old  man  of  the  sea  upon  his  back,  or 
renounce  it  forever.  And  the  latter  course  he  dared  not 
even  consider — the  Sanctuary  was  still  the  Sanctuary,  and 
the  role  of  Larry  the  Bat  was  still  a  refuge,  the  trump  card 
in  the  lone  hand  he  played. 

He  reached  the  corner,  pushed  open  the  door  of  Bristol 
Bob's,  and  shuffled  in.  The  place  was  a  glare  of  light,  a 
hideous  riot  of  noise.  On  a  polished  section  of  the  floor 
in  the  centre,  a  turkey  trot  was  in  full  swing;  laughter  and 
shouting  vied  raucously  with  an  impossible  orchestra. 

Jimmie  Dale  slowly  made  the  circuit  of  the  room  past 
the  tables,  that,  ranged  around  the  sides,  were  packed  with 
occupants  who  thumped  their  glasses  in  tempo  with  the 
music  and  clamoured  at  the  rushing  waiters  for  replenish 
ment.  A  dozen,  two  dozen,  men  and  women  greeted  him- 
Jimmie  Dale  indifferently  returned  their  salutes.  What  a 
galaxy  of  crooks — the  cream  of  the  underworld !  His  eyes, 
under  half-closed  lids,  swept  the  faces — lags,  dips,  gatmen, 
yeggs,  mob  stormers,  murderers,  petty  sneak  thieves,  stalls, 
hangers-on — they  were  all  there.  He  knew  them  all;  he 
was  known  to  all. 

He  shuffled  on  to  the  far  end  of  the  room,  his  leer  a  little 
arrogant,  a  certain  arrogance,  too,  in  the  tilt  of  his  battered 
hat.  He  also  was  quite  a  celebrity  in  that  gathering — Larry 
the  Bat  was  of  the  aristocracy  and  the  elite  of  gangland. 
Well,  the  show  was  over;  he  had  stalked  across  the  stage, 
performed  for  his  audience — and  in  another  hour  now,  free 
r  :til  he  must  repeat  the  same  performance  the  next  day  in 
some  other  equally  notorious  dive,  he  would  be  sitting  in 
for  a  rubber  of  bridge  at  that  most  exclusive  of  all  clubs,  the 
St.  James,  where  none  might  enter  save  only  those  whose 
names  were  vouched  for  in  the  highest  and  most  select  cir 
cles,  and  where  for  partners  he  would  possibly  have  a 
justice  of  the  supreme  court,  or  mayhap  an  eminent  divine! 
He  looked  suddenly  around  him,  as  though  startled.  It 
always  startled  him,  that  comparison.  There  was 


THE  ALIBI  261 

thing  too  stupendous  to  be  simply  ironical  in  the  incongruity 
of  it.  If — if  he  were  ever  run  to  earth ! 

His  eyes  met  those  of  a  heavy-built,  coarse-featured  man, 
the  chewed  end  of  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  who  stepped  from 
behind  the  bar,  carrying  a  tin  tray  with  two  full  glasses 
upon  it.  It  was  Bristol  Bob,  ex-pugilist,  the  proprietor. 

"  How're  you,  Larry  ?  "  grunted  the  man,  with  what  he 
meant  to  be  a  smile. 

Jimmie  Dale  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of  a  passage 
that  prefaced  a  rear  exit  to  the  lane.  He  moved  aside  to 
allow  the  other  to  pass. 

"  'Ello,  Bristol,"  he  returned  dispassionately. 

Bristol  Bob  went  on  along  down  the  passage,  and  Jimmie 
Dale  shuffled  slowly  after  him.  He  had  intended  to  leave 
the  place  by  the  rear  door — it  obviated  the  possibility  of  an 
undesirable  acquaintance  joining  company  with  him  if  he 
went  out  by  the  main  entrance.  But  now  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  proprietor's  back  with  a  sort  of  speculative  curiosity. 
There  was  a  private  room  off  the  passage,  with  a  window 
on  the  lane ;  but  they  must  be  favoured  customers  indeed 
that  Bristol  Bob  would  condescend  to  serve  personally — any 
one  who  knew  Bristol  Bob  knew  that. 

Jimmie  Dale  slowed  his  shuffling  gait,  then  quickened  it 
again.  Bristol  Bob  opened  the  door  and  passed  into  the 
private  room — the  door  was  just  closing  as  Jimmie  Dale 
shuffled  by.  He  had  had  only  a  glance  inside — but  it  was 
enough.  They  were  favoured  customers  indeed!  It  was 
no  wonder  that  Bristol  Bob  himself  was  on  the  job !  Two 
men  were  in  the  room :  Lannigan  of  headquarters,  rated  the 
smartest  plain-clothes  man  in  the  country — and,  across  the 
tafrle  from  Lannigan,  Whitey  Mack,  as  clever,  finished  and 
daring  a  crook  as  was  to  be  found  in  the  Bad  Lands,  whose 
particular  "  line  "  was  diamonds,  or,  in  the  vernacular  of  his 
ilk,  "  white  stones,"  that  had  earned  him  the  sobriquet  of 
"  Whitey."  Lannigan  of  headquarters,  Whitey  Mack  of 
the  underworld,  sworn  enemies  those  two — in  secret  session  I 
Bristol  Bob  might  well  play  the  part  of  outer  guard.  If  a 
choice  few  of  those  outside  in  the  dance  hall  could  get  a 


262    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

glimpse  into  that  private  room  it  would  be  "  good-night  '•"  tt> 
Whitey  Mack. 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  were  narrowed  a  little  as  he  shuffled  on 
down  the  passage.  Lannigan  and  Whitey  Mack  with  their 
heads  together!  What  was  the  game?  There  was  nothing 
in  common  between  the  two  men.  Lannigan,  it  was  well 
known,  could  not  be  "  reached."  Whitey  Mack,  with  his 
ingenious  cleverness,  coupled  with  a  cold-blooded  fearless 
ness  that  had  made  him  an  object  of  unholy  awe  and  respect 
in  the  eyes  of  the  underworld,  was  a  thorn  that  was  sore 
beyond  measure  in  the  side  of  the  police.  Certainly,  it  was 
no  ordinary  thing  that  had  brought  these  two  together; 
especially,  since,  with  the  unrest  and  suspicion  that  was 
bubbling  and  seething  below  the  dead  line,  and  with  which 
there  was  none  more  intimate  than  Whitey  Mack,  Whitey 
Mack  was  inviting  a  risk  in  "  making  up  "  with  the  police 
that  could  only  be  accounted  for  by  some  urgent  and  vital 
incentive. 

Jimmie  Dale  pushed  open  the  door  that  gave  on  the  lane, 
Behind  him,  Bristol  Bob  closed  the  door  of  the  private  room 
and  retreated  back  along  the  passage.  Jimmie  Dale  stepped 
out  into  the  lane — and  instinctively  his  eyes  sought  the 
window  of  the  private  room.  The  shade  was  drawn,  only  a 
yellow  murk  filtered  out  into  the  biack,  unlighted  lane,  but 
suddenly  he  started  noiselessly  toward  k.  The  window  was 
open  a  bare  inch  or  so  at  the  bottom ! 

The  sill  was  just  shoulder  high,  and,  placing  his  ear  to 
the  opening,  he  flattened  himself  against  the  wall.  He 
could  not  see  inside,  for  the  shade  was  drawn  well  to  the 
bottom ;  but  he  could  hear  as  distinctly  as  though  he  were 
at  the  table  beside  the  two  men — and  at  the  first  words,  the 
loose,  disjointed  frame  of  Larry  the  Bat  seemed  to  tauten 
curiously  and  strain  forward  lithe  and  tense. 

"  This  Gray  Seal  dope  listens  good,  Whitey ;  but,  coming 
trom  you,  I'm  leery.  You've  got  to  show  me." 

"  Don't  you  want  him  ?  "  There  was  a  nasty  laugh  from 
Whitey  Mack. 

"  You  bet  I  want  him  I "  returned  the  headquarters 


THE  ALIBI  26? 

«Hth  a  suppressed  savagery  that  left  no  doubt  as  to  hit 
earnestness.  "  I  want  him  fast  enough,  but " 

"  Then,  blast  him,  so  do  I ! "  Whitey  Mack  rapped  out 
with  a  vicious  snarl.  "  So  does  every  guy  in  the  fleet  down 
here.  We  got  it  in  for  him.  You  get  that,  don't  you? 
He's  got  Stangeist  and  his  gang  steered  for  the  electric 
chair  now ;  he  put  a  crimp  in  the  Weasel  the  other  night — 
get  that?  He's  like  a  blasted  wizard  with  what  he  knows. 
And  who'll  he  deal  the  icy  mitt  to  next  ?  Me — damn  him— 
*ne,  for  all  I  know ! " 

"  That's  all  right,"  observed  Lannigan  coolly.  "  I'm  not 
questioning  your  sincerity  for  a  minute ;  I  know  all  about 
that ;  but  that  doesn't  land  the  Gray  Seal.  I'll  work  with 
you  if  you've  anything  to  offer,  but  we've  had  enough  *  tips  * 
and  *  information '  handed  us  at  headquarters  in  the  last 
few  years  to  make  us  a  trifle  skeptical.  Show  me  what 
you've  got,  Whitey?" 

"  Show  you !  "  echoed  Whitey  Mack  passionately.  "  Sure, 
I'll  show  you!  That's  what  I'm  going  to  do — show  you. 
Ill  show  you  the  Gray  Seal!  I  ain't  handing  you  any  tips. 
I've  found  out  who  the  Gray  Seal  is!" 

There  was  a  tense  silence.  It  seemed  to  Jimmie  Dale  as 
though  cold  fingers  were  clutching  at  his  heart,  stifling  its 
beat — then  the  blood  came  bursting  to  his  forehead.  He 
could  not  see  into  the  room,  but  that  silence  was  eloquent. 
It  seemed  as  though  he  could  picture  the  two  men — Lan 
nigan  leaning  suddenly  forward — Lannigan  and  Whitey 
Mack  staring  tensely  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"You — what!"    It  came  low  and  grim  from  Lannigan, 

"  That's  what !  "  asserted  Whitey  Mack  bluntly.  "  You 
heard  me !  That's  what  I  said !  I  know  who  the  Gray 
Seal  is — and  I'm  the  only  guy  that's  wise  to  him.  Am  1 
letting  you  in  right  ?  " 

"  You're  sure  ?  "  demanded  Lannigan  hoarsely.  "  You're 
sure  ?  Who  is  he,  then  ?  " 

There  was  a  half  laugh,  half  snarl  from  WTiitey  Mac£. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't !  "  he  growled.  "  Nix  on  that  I  What 
&>  you  take  me  for — a  fool  ?  You  beat  k  out  of  here  afH& 


264    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

round  him  up — eh — while  I  suck  my  thumbs?  Say,  forge* 
it!  Do  you  think  I'm  doing  this  because  I  love  you?  Why, 
blame  you,  you've  been  aching  for  a  year  to  put  the  bracelets 
on  me  yourself !  Say,  wake  up!  I'm  in  on  this  myself." 

Again  that  silence.  Then  Lannigan  spoke  slowly,  in  a 
puzzled  way. 

"  I  don't  get  you,  Whitey,"  he  said.  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  "  Then,  a  little  sharply :  "  You're  quite  right ; 
you've  got  some  reputation  yourself,  and  you're  badly 

*  wanted  '  if  we  could  get  the  '  goods  '  on  you.    If  you're  try 
ing  to  plant  something,  look  out  for  yourself,  or " 

"  Can  that !  "  snapped  Whitey  Mack  threateningly.  "  Can 
that  sort  of  spiel  right  now — or  quit!  I  ain't  telling  you 
his  name — yet.  But  I'll  take  you  to  him  to-night — and  you 
and  me  nabs  him  together.  Is  that  straight  enough  goods 
for  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  get  sore,"  said  Lannigan,  more  pacifically.  "  Yes, 
if  you'll  do  that  it's  good  enough  for  any  man.  But  lay  your 
cards  on  the  table  face  up,  Whitey — I  want  to  see  what  you 
opened  the  pot  on." 

"  You've  seen  'em,"  Whitey  Mack  answered  ungraciously. 

*  I've  told  you  already.    The  Gray  Seal  goes  out  for  keeps 
'-curse  him  for  a  snitch  I    If  I  bumped  him  off,  or  wised 
tip  any  of  the  guys  to  it,  and  we  was  caught,  we'd  get  the 
juice  for  it  even  if  it  was  the  Gray  Seal,  wouldn't  we? 
Well,  what's  the  use!    If  one  of  you  dicks  get  him,  he  gets 
bumped  off  just  the  same,  only  regular,  up  in  the  wire  par 
lour  at  Sing  Sing.    I  ain't  looking  for  that  kind  of  trouble 
when  I  can  duck  it.    See  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Lannigan. 

"  Besides,  and  moreover,"  continued  Whitey  Mack, 
**  there's  some  reward  hung  out  for  him  that  I'm  figuring  to 
horn  in  on.  I'd  swipe  it  all  myself,  don't  you  make  any  mis 
take  about  that,  and  you'd  never  get  a  look-in,  only,  sore  as 
the  mob  is  on  the  Gray  Seal,  it  ain't  healthy  for  any  guy 
around  these  parts  to  get  the  reputation  of  being  a  snitch, 
3O  matter  who  he  snitches  on.  Bump  him  off — 


THE  ALIBI  265 

Snitching— well,  you  get  the  idea,  eh?    I'm  ducking  that 
too.    Get  me  ?  " 

"  I  get  you,"  said  Lannigan,  with  a  short,  pleased  laugh., 

"  Well,  then,"  announced  White)  Mack,  "  here's  my  prop 
osition,  and  it's  my  turn  to  hand  out  the  '  look-out- for-your- 
self '  dope.  I'm  busting  the  game  wide  open  for  you  to  play, 
but  you  throw  me  down,  and  " — his  voice  sank  into  a  sullen 
snarl  again — "  you  can  take  it  from  me,  I'll  get  you  for  it !  " 

"  All  right,"  responded  Lannigan  soberly.  "  Let's  hear  it 
If  I  agree  to  it,  I'll  stick  to  it." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Whitey  Mack  curtly.  "  That's  why 
I  picked  you  out  for  the  medal  they'll  pin  on  you  for  this 
And  here's  getting  down  to  tacks !  I'll  lead  you  to  the  Gray 
Seal  to-night  and  help  you  nab  him  and  stay  with  you  to 
the  finish,  but  there's  to  be  nobody  but  you  and  me  on  the 
job.  When  it's  done  I  fade  away,  and  nobody's  to  know  I 
snitched,  and  no  questions  asked  as  to  how  I  found  out  about 
the  Gray  Seal.  I  ain't  looking  for  any  of  the  glory — you  can 
fix  that  up  to  suit  yourself.  The  cash  is  different — you 
come  across  with  half  the  reward  the  day  they  pay  it." 

"  You'll  get  it ! "  There  was  savage  elation  in  Lanni* 
gan's  voice,  the  emphatic  smash  of  a  fist  on  the  table. 
"  You're  on,  Whitey.  And  if  we  get  the  Gray  Seal  to 
night,  I'll  do  better  by  you  than  that." 

"  We'll  get  him ! "  said  Whitey  Mack,  with  a  vicious  oathc 
-And " 

Jimmie  Dale  crouched  suddenly  low  down,  close  against 
the  wall.  The  crunch  of  a  footstep  sounded  from  the  end 
of  the  lane.  Some  one  had  turned  in  from  the  cross  street, 
some  fifty  yards  away,  and  was  heading  evidently  for  the 
^ack  entrance  to  Bristol  Bob's.  Jimmie  Dale  edged  noise 
lessly,  cautiously  back  past  the  doorway,  kept  on,  pressed 
close  against  the  wall,  and  finally  paused.  He  had  not  been 
seen.  The  back  door  of  Bristol  Bob's  opened  and  closed, 
The  man  had  gone  in. 

For  a  moment  Jimmie  Dale  stood  hesitant.  There  was  a 
wild  surging  in  his  brain,  something  like  a  myriad  batteries 
si  trip  hammers  seemed  to  be  pounding  at  his  temples? 


266    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Then,  almost  blindly,  he  kept  on  down  the  lane  in  the  same 
direction  in  which  !ie  had  started  to  retreat — as  well  one 
cross  street  as  another. 

He  turned  into  the  cross  street,  went  along  it — and  pres 
ently  emerged  into  the  full  tide  of  the  Bowery.  It  was 
garishly  lighted ;  people  swarmed  about  him.  Subcon 
sciously,  there  were  crowded  sidewalks;  subconsciously,  he 
was  on  the  Bowery — that  was  all. 

Ruin,  disaster,  peril  faced  him — faced  him,  and  staggered 
him  with  the  suddenness  of  the  shock.  Was  it  true?  No; 
it  could  not  be  true!  It  was  a  bluff — Whitey  Mack  was 
bluffing.  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  grew  thin  in  a  mirthless  smile 
as  he  shook  his  head.  Neither  Whitey  Mack  nor  any  other 
man  would  dare  to  bluff  like  that.  It  was  too  straight,  toe 
open-handed,  Whitey  Mack  had  laid  his  cards  too  plainly  on 
the  table.  Whitey  Mack's  words  rang  in  his  ears :  "  I'll 
lead  you  to  the  Gray  Seal  to-night  and  help  you  nab  him 
and  stay  with  you  to  the  finish."  The  man  meant  what  he; 
said,  meant  what  he  said,  too,  about  the  "  finish  "  of  thv 
Gray  Seal ;  not  a  man  in  the  Bad  Lands  but  meant — death 
to  the  Gray  Seal!  But  how,  by  what  means,  when,  where 
had  Whitey  Mack  got  his  information?  "  I'm  the  only  one 
»nat's  wise,"  Whitey  Mack  had  said.  It  seemed  impossible, 
It  was  impossible!  Whitey  Mack  was  sincere  enough 
probably  in  what  he  had  said,  but  the  man  simply  could  not 
know.  Whitey  Mack  could  only  have  spotted  some  one 
that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  he  imagined  was  the  Gray 
Seal.  That  was  it — must  be  it!  Whitey  Mack  had  made 
a  mistake.  What  clew  could  he  have  obtained  to 

Over  the  unwashed  face  of  Larry  the  Bat  a  gray  pallor 
spread  slowly.  His  fingers  were  plucking  at  the  frayed 
edge  of  his  inside  vest  pocket.  The  dark  eyes  seemed  to  turn 
coal-black.  A  laugh,  like  the  laugh  of  one  darr"»ed,  rose  to 
his  lips,  and  was  choked  back.  It  was  gone!  Gone!  That 
thin  metal  case,  like  a  cigarette  case,  that,  between  the  little 
sheets  of  oil  paper,  held  those  diamond-shaped,  gray- 
coloured,  adhesive  seals,  the  insignia  of  the  Gray  Seal — wai 
Clew!  It  seemed  as  though  there  were  an 


THE  ALIBI 

powering  nausea  upon  him.  Clew!  That  little  case  was  not 
a  clew — it  was  a  death  warrant ! 

His  hands  clenched  fiercely.  If  he  could  only  think  for  a 
moment!  The  lining  of  his  pocket  had  given  away.  The 
case  had  dropped  out.  But  there  was  nothing  about  the  case 
to  identify  any  one  as  the  Gray  Seal  unless  it  were  found  in 
one's  actual  possession.  Therefore  Whitey  Mack,  to  have 
solved  his  identity,  must  have  seen  him  drop  the  case. 
There  could  be  no  question  about  that.  It  was  equally  ob 
vious  then  that  Whitey  Mack  would  know  the  Gray  Seal 
as  Larry  the  Bat.  Did  he  also  know  him  as  Jimmie  Dale? 
Yes,  or  no?  It  was  a  vital  question.  His  life  hung  on  it. 

That  keen,  facile  brain,  numbed  for  the  moment,  was 
beginning  to  work  with  lightning  speed.  It  was  four  o'clock 
that  afternoon  when  he  had  assumed  the  character  of  Larry 
the  Bat — some  time  between  four  o'clock  and  the  present, 
it  was  now  well  after  eleven,  the  case  had  dropped  from  his 
pocket.  There  had  been  ample  time  then  for  Whitey  Mack 
to  have  made  that  appointment  with  Lannigan — and  ample 
time  to  have  made  a  surreptitious  visit  to  the  Sanctuary. 
Had  Whitey  Mack  gone  there?  Had  Whitey  Mack  found 
that  hiding  place  in  the  flooring  under  the  oilcloth?  Had 
Whitey  Mack  discovered  that  the  Gray  Seal  was  not  only 
Larry  the  Bat — but  Jimmie  Dale? 

Jimmie  Dale  swept  his  hand  across  his  forehead.  It  was 
damp  from  little  clinging  beads  of  moisture.  Should  he  go 
to  the  Sanctuary  and  change — become  Jimmie  Dale  again? 
Was  it  the  safest  thing  to  do — or  the  most  dangerous  ?  Even 
if  Whitey  Mack  had  been  there  and  discovered  the  dual  per 
sonality  of  Larry  the  Bat,  how  would  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  know 
it?  The  man  would  have  been  crafty  enough  to  have  left 
no  sign  behind  him.  Was  it  to  the  Sanctuary  that  Whitey 
Mack  meant  to  lead  Lannigan  that  evening — or  did  Whitey 
Mack  know  him  as  Jimmie  Dale,  and  to  make  it  the  more 
sensational,  plan  to  carry  out  the  coup,  say,  at  the  St.  James 
Club?  Whitey  Mack  and  Lannigan  were  still  at  Bristol 
Bob's;  he  had  probably  time,  if  he  so  elected,  to  reach  the 
Sanctuary,  change,  and  get  away  again.  But  every  minute- 


268    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

was  priceless  now.  What  should  he  do  ?  Run  from  the  city 
as  he  was  for  cover — or  take  the  gambler's  chance?  Whitey 
Mack  knew  him  as  Larry  the  Bat — it  was  not  certain  that 
Whitey  Mack  knew  him  as  Jimmie  Dale. 

He  had  halted,  absorbed,  in  front  of  a  moving-picture 
theatre.  Great  placards,  at  first  bat  a  blur  of  colour,  sud 
denly  forced  themselvcj  in  concrete  form  upon  his  conscious 
ness.  Letters  a  foot  high  leaped  out  at  him :  "  THE  DOU 
BLE  LIFE."  There  was  the  picture  of  a  banker  in  his 
private  office  hastily  secreting  a  forged  paper  as  the  hero 
in  the  guise  of  a  clerk  entered ;  the  companion  picture  was 
the  banker  in  convict  stripes  staring  out  from  behind  the 
barred  doors  of  a  cell.  There  seemed  a  ghastly  augury  in 
the  coincidence.  Why  should  a  thing  like  that  be  thrust  upon 
him  to  shake  his  nerve  when  he  needed  nerve  now  more 
than  he  had  ever  needed  it  in  his  life  before? 

He  raised  his  hand  to  jerk  aimlessly  at  the  brim  of  his 
hat,  dropped  his  hand  abruptly  to  his  side  again,  and  started 
quickly,  hurriedly  away  through  the  throng  around  him.  A 
sort  of  savagery  had  swept  upon  him.  In  a  flash  he  had 
made  his  decision.  He  would  take  the  gambler's  chance! 
And  afterward — Jimmie  Dale's  lips  were  like  a  thin,  straight 
line — it  was  Whitey  Mack's  life  or  his  own!  Whitey  Mack 
had  said  he  was  the  only  one  that  was  wise — and  Whitey 
Mack  had  not  told  Lannigan  yet,  wouldn't  tell  Lannigan 
until  the  show-down.  If  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  got  to  the  Sanc 
tuary,  became  Jimmie  Dale  and  got  away  again,  even  if 
Whitey  Mack  knew  him  as  Jimmie  Dale,  there  was  still  a 
chance.  It  was  his  life  or  Whitey  Mack's — Whitey  Mack, 
with  his  lean-jawed,  clean-shaven  wolf's  face!  If  he  could 
get  Whitey  Mack  before  the  other  was  ready  to  tell  Lanni 
gan  !  Surely  he  had  the  right  of  self-preservation !  Surely 
his  life  was  as  valuable  as  Whitey  Mack's,  as  valuable  as  a 
man's  who,  as  those  in  the  secrets  of  the  underworld  knew 
well  enough,  had  blood  upon  his  hands,  who  lived  by  crime, 
who  was  a  menace  to  the  community !  Had  he  not  the  right 
to  preserve  his  own  life  at  the  expense  of  one  such  as  that? 
He  had  neve;-  taken  life — the  thought  was  abhorrent  t  B«r 


THE  ALIBI  288 

was  there  any  other  way  in  event  of  Whitey  Mack  know« 
ing  him  as  Jimmie  Dale?  His  back  was  against  the  wall; 
he  was  trapped ;  certain  death,  and,  worse,  dishonour  stared 
him  in  the  face.  Lannigran  and  Whitey  Mack  would  be  to 
gether — the  odds  would  be  two  to  one  against  him — and  he 
had  no  quarrel  with  Lannigan — somehow  he  must  let  Lanni- 
gan  out  of  it. 

The  other  side  of  the  street  was  less  crowded.  He  crossed 
over,  and,  still  with  the  shuffling  tread  that  dozens  around 
him  knew  as  the  characteristic  gait  of  Larry  the  Bat.  but 
covering  the  ground  with  amazing  celerity,  he  hurried  along. 
It  was  only  at  the  end  of  the  block,  that  cross  street  from 
the  Bowery  that  led  to  the  Sanctuary.  How  much  time  had 
he?  He  turned  the  corner  into  the  darker  cross  street 
Whitey  Mack  would  have  learned  from  Bristol  Bob  that 
Larry  the  Bat  had  just  been  there ;  that  is,  that  Larry  the  Bat 
was  not  at  the  Sanctuary.  Whitey  Mack  would  probably  be 
in  no  hurry — he  and  Lannigan  might  wait  until  later,  until 
Whitey  Mack  should  be  Satisfied  that  Larry  the  Bat  had 
gone  home.  It  was  the  line  of  least  resistance ;  they  would 
not  attempt  to  scour  the  city  for  him.  They  might  even 
wait  in  that  private  room  at  Brisol  Bob's  until  they  decided 
that  it  was  time  to  sally  out.  He  might  perhaps  still  find 
them  there  when  he  got  back;  at  any  rate,  from  there  he 
must  pick  up  their  trail  again.  On  the  other  hand — all  this 
was  but  supposition — they  might  make  at  once  for  the  Sanc 
tuary  to  lie  in  wait  for  him.  In  any  case  there  was  need, 
desperate  need,  for  haste. 

He  glanced  sharply  around  him;  and,  by  the  side  of  the 
tenement  house  now  that  bordered  on  the  alleyway,  with  a 
curious,  swift,  gliding  motion,  he  seemed  to  blend  into  the 
shadow  and  darkness.  It  was  the  Sanctuary,  that  room  on 
the  first  floor  of  the  tenement,  the  tenement  that  had  three 
entrances,  three  exits — a  passageway  through  to  the  saloon 
on  the  next  street  that  abutted  on  the  rear,  the  usual  front 
door,  and  the  side  door  in  the  alleyway.  Gone  was  the 
shuffling  gait.  Quick,  alert,  he  ran,  crouching,  bent  down, 
*long  the  alleyway,  reached  the  side  door,  opened  it  stealthily^ 


270    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

dosed  it  behind  him  with  equal  caution,  and,  in  the  dark 
antry,  stood  motionless,  listening  intently. 

There  was  no  sound.  He  began  to  mount  the  rickety, 
dilapidated  stairs ;  and,  where  it  seemed  that  the  lightest 
tread  must  make  them  creak  out  in  blatant  protest,  his 
trained  muscles,  delicately  compensating  his  body  weight, 
carried  him  upward  with  a  silence  that  was  almost  uncanny. 
There  was  need  of  silence,  as  there  was  need  of  haste.  He 
was  not  so  sure  now  of  the  time  at  his  disposal — that  he  had 
even  reached  the  Sanctuary  first.  How  long  had  he  loitered 
in  that  half-dazed  way  on  the  Bowery  ?  He  did  not  know — 
perhaps  longer  than  he  had  imagined.  There  was  the  possi 
bility  that  Whitey  Mack  and  Lannigan  were  already  above, 
waiting  for  him  ;  but,  even  if  they  were  not  already  there  and 
tie  got  away  before  they  came,  it  was  imperative  that  no  one 
should  know  that  Larry  the  Bat  had  come  and  gone. 

He  reached  the  landing,  and  paused  again,  his  right  hand, 
with  a  vicious  muzzle  of  his  automatic  peeping  now  from  be 
tween  his  fingers,  thrown  a  little  forward.  It  was  black, 
utterly  black,  around  him.  Again  that  stealthy,  catlike  tread 
— and  his  ear  was  at  the  keyhole  of  the  Sanctuary  door.  A 
full  minute,  priceless  though  it  was,  passed ;  then,  satisfied 
that  the  room  was  empty,  he  drew  his  head  back  from  the 
keyhole,  and  those  slim,  tapering  ringers,  that  in  their  tips 
seemed  to  embody  all  the  human  senses,  felt  over  the  lock. 
Apparently  it  had  been  undisturbed ;  but  that  was  no  proof 
that  Whitey  Mack  had  not  been  there  after  finding  the  metal 
case.  Whitey  Mack  was  known  to  be  clever  with  a  lock — 
clever  enough  for  that,  anyhow. 

He  slipped  in  the  key,  turned  it.  and,  on  hinges  that  were 
always  oiled,  silently  pushed  the  door  open  and  stepped 
across  the  threshold.  He  closed  the  door  until  it  was  just 
ajar,  that  any  sound  might  reach  him  from  without — and, 
whipping  off  his  coat,  began  to  undress  swiftly. 

There  was  no  light.  He  dared  not  use  the  gas ;  it  might 
be  seen  from  the  alleyway.  He  was  moving  now -quickly, 
surely,  silently  here  and  there.  It  was  like  some  weird  spec 
tre  figure,  a  little  blacker  than  the  surrounding  darkness. 


THE  ALIBI  271 

flitting  about  the  room.  The  oilcloth  in  the  corner  wag 
turned  back,  the  loose  flooring  lifted,  the  clothes  of  Jimmie 
Dale  taken  out,  the  rags  of  Larry  the  Bat  put  in.  The  min 
utes  flew  by.  It  was  not  the  change  of  clothing  that  took 
long — it  was  the  eradication  of  Larry  the  Bat's  metke-up 
from  his  face,  throat,  neck,  wrists,  and  hands.  Occasionally 
his  head  was  turned  in  a  tense,  listening  attitude;  but  al 
ways  the  fingers  were  busy,  working  with  swift  deftness. 

It  was  done  at  last.  Larry  the  Bat  had  vanished,  and  in 
his  place  stood  Jimmie  Dale,  the  young  millionaire,  the 
social  lion  of  New  York,  immaculate  in  well-tailored  tweeds. 
He  stooped  to  the  hole  in  the  flooring,  and,  his  fingers  go 
ing  unerringly  to  their  hiding  place,  took  out  a  black  silk 
mask  and  an  electric  flashlight — his  automatic  was  already 
in  his  possession.  His  lips  parted  grimly.  Who  knew  what 
part  a  flashlight  might  not  play — and  he  would  need  the 
mask  for  Lannigan's  benefit,  even  if  it  did  not  disguise  him 
from  Whitey  Mack.  Had  he  left  any  telltale  evidence  of 
his  visit?  It  was  almost  worth  the  risk  of  a  light  to  make 
sure.  He  hesitated,  then  shook  his  head,  and,  stooping 
again,  carefully  replaced  the  flooring  and  laid  the  oilcloth 
over  it — he  dared  not  show  a  light  at  any  cost. 

But  now  even  more  caution  than  before  was  necessary. 
At  times,  the  lodgers  had  naturally  enough  seen  their  fellow 
lodger,  Larry  the  Bat,  enter  and  leave  the  tenement — none 
had  ever  seen  Jimmie  Dale  either  leave  or  enter.  He  stole 
across  the  room  to  the  door,  halted  to  assure  himself  that 
the  hall  was  empty,  slipped  out  into  the  hall,  and  locked  the 
door  behind  him.  Again  that  trained,  long-practiced,  silent 
tread  upon  the  stairs.  It  seemed  as  though  an  hour  passed 
before  he  reached  the  bottom,  and  his  brain  was  shrieking  at 
him  to  hurry,  hurry,  hurry!  The  entry  way  at  last,  the  door, 
the  alleyway,  a  long  breath  of  relief — and  he  was  on  the 
cross  street. 

A  step,  two,  he  took  in  the  direction  of  the  Bowery — and 
he  was  bending  down  as  though  to  tie  his  shoe,  his  auto 
matic,  from  his  side  pocket,  concealed  in  his  hand.  Was  that 
some  one  there?  H»«o«^i  have  sworn  he  saw  a  shadow-like 


372    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

form  start  out  from  behind  the  steps  of  the  house  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  street  as  he  had  emerged  from  the  alley 
way.  In  his  bent  posture,  without  seemingly  turning  his 
head,  his  eyes  swept  sharply  up  and  down  the  other  side 
of  the  ill-lighted  street.  Nothing!  There  was  not  even  a 
pedestrian  in  sight  on  the  block  from  there  to  the  Bowery. 

Jimmie  Dale  straightened  up  nonchalantly,  and  stooped 
almost  instantly  again,  as  though  the  lace  were  still  proving 
refractory.  Again  that  sharp,  searching  glance.  Again— 
nothing !  He  went  forward  now  in  apparent  unconcern; 
but  his  right  hand,  instead  of  being  buried  in  his  coat  pocket, 
swung  easily  at  his  side. 

It  was  strange!  His  ineffective  ruse  to  the  contrary,  he 
was  certain  that  he  had  not  been  mistaken.  "Was  it  Whitey 
Mack?  Was  the  question  answered?  Was  the  Gray  Seal 
known,  too,  as  Jimmie  Dale?  Were  they  trailing  him  now, 
with  the  climax  to  come  at  the  club,  at  his  own  palatial  home, 
wherever  the  surroundings  would  best  lend  themselves  to 
assuaging  that  inordinate  thirst  for  the  sensational  that  was 
so  essentially  a  characteristic  of  the  confirmed  criminal? 
What  a  headline  in  the  morning's  papers  it  would  make ! 

At  the  corner  he  loitered  by  the  curb  to  light  a  cigarette — 
still  not  a  soul  in  sight  on  either  side  of  the  street  behind  him, 
•except  a  couple  of  Italians  who  had  just  passed  by.  Strange 
again!  The  intuition,  if  it  were  only  intuition,  was  still 
•strong.  He  swung  abruptly  on  his  heel,  mingled  with  the 
passers-by  on  the  Bowery,  walked  a  rapid  half  dozen  steps 
until  the  building  hid  the  cross  street,  then  ran  across  the 
road  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  Bowery,  and,  in  a  crowd  now, 
came  back  to  the  corner.  He  crossed  from  curb  to  curb 
slowly,  sheltered  by  a  fringe  of  people  that,  however,  in  nc 
way  obstructed  his  view  down  the  side  street.  And  then 
Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  had  evidently  been 
mistaken,  after  all.  He  was  overexcited;  his  nerves  were 
raw — that,  perhaps,  was  the  solution.  Meanwhile,  every 
minute  was  counting,  it  Whitey  Mack  and  Lannigan  should 
still  be  at  Bristol  Bob's. 

He  kept  on  down  the  Bowery,  hurrying  with  growing  iflfe* 


THE  ALIBI  273 

patience  through  the  crowds  that  massed  in  front  ot  various 
places  of  amusement.  He  had  not  intended  to  come  along 
-he  Bowery,  and,  except  for  what  had  occurred,  would  have 
^aken  a  ies-s  frequented  street  He  would  turn  off  at  the 
Text  block. 

He  was  in  front  of  that  moving-picture  theatre  again. 
*  THE  DOUBLE  LIFE  "—his  eyes  were  attracted  invol 
untarily  to  the  lurid,  overdone  display.  It  seemed  to 
threaten  him ;  it  seemed  to  dangle  before  him  a  premonition, 
as  it  were,  of  what  the  morning  held  in  store ;  but  now,  toos 
it  seemed  to  feed  into  flame  that  smouldering  fury  that  pos 
sessed  him.  His  life — or  Whitey  Mack's  1  Men,  women, 
and  the  children  who  turned  night  into  day  in  that  quarter 
of  the  city  were  clustered  thick  around  the  signs,  hiving  like 
bees  to  the  bald  sensationalism.  Almost  savagely  he  began  to 
force  his  way  through  the  crowd — and  the  next  instant, 
Hike  a  man  stunned,  had  stopped  in  his  tracks.  His  ringers 
had  closed  m  a  fierce,  spasmodic  clutch  over  an  envelope  that 
had  been  thrust  suddenly  into  his  hand. 

"Jimtnte!"  from  somewhere  came  a  low,  quick  voice. 
"  Jimmie,  it  is  half-past  eleven  now — hurry" 

He  whirled,  scanning  wildly  this  face,  then  that.  It  was 
her  voice — her  voice!  The  Tocsin!  The  sensitive  fingers 
were  telegraphing  to  his  brain,  as  they  always  did,  that  the 
texture  of  the  envelope,  too,  was  hers.  Her  voice;  yes,  any 
where,  out  of  a  thousand  voices,  he  would  distinguish  hers — • 
but  her  face,  he  had  never  seen  that.  Which,  out  of  all  the 
crowd  around  him,  was  hers?  Surely  he  could  tell  her  by 
her  dress;  she  would  be  different;  her  personality  alone 
;mist  single  her  out.  She 

"  Say,  have  yotise  got  de  pip,  or  do  youse  t'ink  youse  owns 
de  earth ! "  a  man  flung  at  him,  heaving  and  pushing  to  get 
by. 

With  a  stan,  though  he  scarcely  heard  the  man,  Jimmie 
Dale  moved  on.  His  brain  was  afire.  AH  the  irony  of  the 
jvorhl  seemed  marsed  in  a  sudden,  overwhelming  attack  upon 
him,  ft  wns  useless — intuitively  he  had  known  it  was  use 
*s*§  from  the  instant  he  had  heard  net  voice.  It  was  alway? 


274    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  same — always !  For  years  she  had  eluded  him  like 
that,  come  upon  him  without  warning  and  disappeared,  but 
leaving  always  that  tangible  proof  of  her  existence — a  letter, 
the  call  of  the  Gray  Seal  to  arms.  But  to-night  it  was  as  it 
had  never  been  before.  It  was  not  alone  baffled  chagrin 
now,  not  alone  the  longing,  the  wild  desire  to  see  her  face, 
to  look  into  her  eyes — it  was  life  and  death.  She  had  come 
at  the  very  moment  when  she,  perhaps  alone  of  all  the  world, 
could  have  pointed  the  way  out,  when  life,  liberty,  every 
thing  that  was  common  to  them  both  was  at  stake,  in  deadly 
peril — and  she  had  gone,  ignorant  of  it  all,  leaving  him 
staggered  by  the  very  possibility  of  the  succour  that  was  held 
up  before  his  eyes  only  to  be  snatched  away  without  power 
of  his  to  grasp  it.  His  intuition  had  not  been  at  fault — he 
had  made  no  mistake  in  that  shadow  across  the  street  from 
the  Sanctuary.  It  had  been  the  Tocsin.  He  had  been  fol 
lowed  ;  and  it  was  she  who  had  followed  him,  until,  in  a 
crowd,  she  had  seized  the  opportunity  of  a  moment  ago. 
Though  ultimately,  perhaps,  it  changed  nothing,  it  was  a  re 
lief  in  a  way  to  know  that  it  was  she,  not  Whitey  Mack, 
who  had  been  lurking  there;  but  her  persistent,  incompre 
hensible  determination  to  preserve  the  mystery  with  which 
she  surrounded  herself  was  like  ^ow  to  cost  them  both  a 
ghastly  price.  If  he  could  only  have  had  one  word  with 
her — just  one  word  ! 

The  letter  in  his  hand  crackled  under  his  clenched  fist. 
He  stared  at  it  in  a  half-blind,  half-bitter  way.  The  call 
of  the  Gray  Seal  to  arms !  Another  coup,  wifci  its  incident 
danger  and  peril,  that  she  had  planned  for  him  to  execute! 
He  could  have  laughed  aloud  at  the  inhuman  mockery  of  it. 
The  call  of  the  Gray  Seal  to  arms — now!  When  with  every 
faculty  drained  to  its  last  resource,  cornered,  trapped,  ha 
was  fighting  for  his  very  existence ! 

"  Jimmie,  it  is  half-past  eleven  now — hurry! "  The  words 
were  jangling  discordantly  in  his  brain. 

And  now  he  laughed  outright,  mirthlessly.  A  young  girl 
hanging  on  her  escort's  arm,  passing,  glanced  at  him  and 
jiggled.  It  was  a  different  Jimmie  Dale  for  the  moment 


THE  ALIBI  275 

For  once  his  immobility  had  forsaken  him.  He  laughed 
again — a  sort  of  unnatural,  desperate  indifference  to  every, 
thing  falling  upon  him.  What  did  it  matter,  the  moment  or 
two  it  would  take  to  read  the  letter?  He  looked  around  him. 
He  was  on  the  corner  in  front  of  the  Palace  Saloon,  and, 
turning  abruptly,  he  stepped  in  through  the  swinging  doors. 
As  Larry  the  Bat,  he  knew  the  place  well.  At  the  rear  of 
the  barroom  and  along  the  side  of  the  wall  were  some  half 
dozen  little  stalls,  partitioned  off  from  each  other.  Several 
of  these  were  unoccupied,  and  he  chose  the  one  farthest 
from  the  entrance.  It  was  private  enough;  no  one  would 
disturb  him. 

From  the  aproned  individual  who  presented  himself  he  or 
dered  a  drink.  The  man  returned  in  a  moment,  and  Jim- 
mie  Dale  tossed  a  coin  on  the  table,  bidding  the  other  keep 
the  change.  He  wanted  no  drink;  the  transaction  was 
wholly  perfunctory.  The  waiter  was  gone;  he  pushed  the 
glass  away  from  him,  and  tore  the  envelope  open. 

A  single  sheet,  closely  written  on  both  sides  of  the  paper, 
was  in  his  hand.  It  was  her  writing ;  there  was  no  mistak 
ing  that,  but  every  word,  every  line  bore  evidence  of  frantic 
haste.  Even  that  customary  formula,  "  dear  philanthropic 
crook,"  that  had  prefaced  every  line  she  had  ever  written 
him  before,  had  been  omitted.  His  eyes  traversed  the  first 
few  lines  with  that  strange  indifference  that  had  settled  upon 
him.  What,  after  all,  did  it  matter  what  it  was ;  he  could 
do  nothing — not  even  save  himself  probably.  And  then, 
with  a  little  start,  he  read  the  lines  over  again,  muttering 
snatches  from  them. 

"  .  .  .  Max  Diestricht — diamonds — the  Ross-Logan 
stones — wedding — sliding  panel  in  wall  of  workshop — end 
of  the  room  near  window — ten  boards  to  the  right  from  side 
wall — press  small  knot  in  the  wood  in  the  centre  of  the  tenth 
board — to-night  .  ,  ." 

It  brought  a  sudden  thrill  of  excitement  to  Jimmie  Dale 
that,  impossible  as  he  would  have  believed  it  an  instant  ago, 


276    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

for  the  moment  overshadowed  the  realisation  of  his  owt, 
peril.  A  robbery  such  as  that,  if  it  were  ever  accomplished, 
would  stir  the  country  from  end  to  end ;  it  would  set  New 
York  by  the  ears ;  it  would  loose  the  police  in  full  cry  like 
a  pack  of  bloodhounds  with  their  leashes  slipped.  The  so 
ciety  columns  of  the  newspapers  had  been  busy  for  months 
featuring  the  coming  marriage  of  the  Ross-Logans'  daughter 
to  one  of  the  country's  young  merchant  princes.  The  com 
bined  fortunes  of  the  two  families  would  make  the  young 
couple  the  richest  in  America.  The  prospective  groom's 
wedding  gift  was  to  be  a  diamond  necklace  of  perfectly 
matched,  large  stones  that  would  eclipse  anything  of  the  kind 
in  the  country.  Europe,  the  foreign  markets,  had  been  lit 
erally  combed  and  ransacked  to  supply  the  gems.  The  stones 
had  arrived  in  New  York  the  day  before,  the  duty  on  them 
alone  amounting  to  over  fifty  thousand  dollars.  All  this 
had  appeared  in  the  papers. 

Jimmie  Dale's  brows  drew  together  in  a  frown.  On  just 
exactly  what  percentage  the  duty  was  figured  he  did  not 
know;  but  it  was  high  enough  on  the  basis  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars  to  assume  safely  that  the  assessed  value  of  the  stones 
was  not  less  than  four  times  that  amount.  Two  hundred 
thousand  dollars — laid  down,  a  quarter  of  a  million !  Well, 
why  not  ?  In  more  than  one  quarter  diamonds  were  ranked 
as  the  soundest  kind  of  an  investment.  Furthermore, 
through  personal  acquaintance  with  the  "  high  contracting 
parties,"  who  were  in  his  own  set,  he  knew  it  to  be  true. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  papers,  too,  had  thrown 
the  limelight  on  Max  Diestricht,  who,  though  for  quite  a 
time  the  fashion  in  the  social  world,  had,  up  to  the  present, 
been  comparatively  unknown  to  the  average  New  Yorker. 
His  own  knowledge  of  Max  Diestricht  went  deeper  than 
the  superficial  biography  furnished  by  the  newspapers — the 
old  Hollander  had  done  more  than  one  piece  of  exquisite 
jewelry  work  for  him.  The  old  fellow  was  a  character  that 
beggared  description,  eccentric  to  the  point  of  extravagance, 
and  deaf  as  a  post ;  but,  in  craftmanship,  a  modern  Cellini 
He  employed  no  workmen,  lived  alone  over  his  shop  on  one 


THE  ALIBI  277 

of  the  lower  streets  between  Fifth  and  Sixth  Avenues  near 
Washington  Square — and  possessed  a  splendid  contempt  for 
such  protective  contrivances  as  safes  and  vaults.  If  his 
prospective  patrons  expostulated  on  this  score  before  intrust 
ing  him  with  their  valuables,  they  were  at  liberty  to  take  their 
work  elsewhere.  It  was  Max  Diestricht  who  honoured  you 
by  accepting  the  commission ;  not  you  who  honoured  Max 
Diestricht  by  intrusting  him  with  it.  "  Of  what  use  is  it 
to  me,  a  safe ! "  he  would  exclaim.  "  It  hides  nothing :  it 
only  says,  '  I  am  inside ;  do  not  look  farther ;  come  and 
get  me ! '  Yes  ?  It  is  to  explode  with  the  nitro-glycerine — • 
pouf! — and  I  am  deaf  and  I  hear  nothing.  It  is  a  foolishness, 
that  " — he  had  a  habit  of  prodding  at  one  with  a  levelled  fore 
finger — "  every  night  somewhere  they  are  robbed,  and  have  I 
been  robbed  ?  Hein,  tell  me  that ;  have  I  been  robbed  ?  " 

It  was  true.  In  ten  years,  though  at  times  having  stones 
and  precious  metal  aggregating  large  amounts  deposited  with 
him  by  his  customers,  Max  Diestricht  had  never  lost  so  much 
as  the  gold  filings.  There  was  a  queer  smile  on  Jimmie 
Dale's  lips  now.  The  knot  in  the  tenth  board  was  signifi 
cant!  Max  Diestricht  was  scrupulously  honest,  a  genius 
in  orginality  and  conception  of  design,  a  master  in  the  per 
fection  and  delicacy  of  his  finished  work — he  had  been  com 
missioned  to  design  and  set  the  Ross-Logan  necklace. 

The  brain  works  quickly.  All  this  and  more  had  flashed 
almost  instantaneously  through  Jimmie  Dale's  mind.  His 
eyes  fell  to  the  letter  again,  and  he  read  on.  Halfway 
through,  a  sudden  whiteness  blanched  his  face,  and,  follow 
ing  it,  a  surging  tide  of  red  that  mounted  to  his  temples.  It 
dazed  him ;  it  seemed  to  rob  him  for  the  moment  of  the 
power  of  coherent  thought.  He  was  wrong ;  he  had  not 
read  aright.  It  was  incredible,  dare-devil  beyond  belief — • 
and  yet  in  its  very  audacity  lay  success.  He  finished  the 
letter,  read  it  once  more — and  his  fingers  mechanically  be 
gan  to  tear  it  into  little  shreds.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl, 
a  vortex  of  conflicting  emotions.  Had  Whitey  Mack  and 
Lannigan  left  Bristol  Bob's  yet?  Where  were  they  now? 
Was  there  time  for — this?  He  was  staring  at  the  little  tora 


278    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

scraps  of  paper  in  his  hand.  He  thrust  them  suddenly  ints 
his  pocket,  and  jerked  out  his  watch.  It  was  nearly  mid 
night.  The  broad,  muscular  shoulders  seemed  to  square 
back  curiously,  the  jaws  to  clamp  a  little,  the  face  to  harden 
and  grow  cold  until  it  was  like  stone.  With  a  swift  move 
ment  he  emptied  his  glass  into  the  cuspidor,  set  the  glass 
back  on  the  table,  and  stepped  out  from  the  stall.  His  ces- 
tination  was  Max  Diestricht's. 

The  Palace  Saloon  was  near  the  upper  end  of  the  Bowery, 
and,  failing  a  taxicab,  of  which  none  was  in  sight,  his  quick 
est  method  was  to  walk,  and  he  started  briskly  forward.  It 
was  not  far ;  and  it  was  barely  ten  minutes  from  the  time 
he  had  left  the  Palace  Saloon  when  he  swung  through  Wash 
ington  Square  to  Fifth  Avenue,  and,  a  moment  later,  turned 
from  that  thoroughfare,  heading  west  toward  Sixth  Ave 
nue,  along  one  of  those  streets  which,  with  the  city's  north 
ward  trend,  had  quite  lost  any  distincitve  identity,  and  irom 
being  once  a  modestly  fashionable  residential  section  had  now 
become  a  conglomerate  potpourri  of  small  tradesmen's  stores, 
shops  and  apartments  of  the  poorer  class.  He  knew  Max 
Diestricht's — he  could  well  have  done  without  the  aid  of 
the  arc  lamp  which,  even  if  dimly,  indicated  that  low,  al 
most  tumble-down,  two-story  structure  tucked  away  between 
the  taller  buildings  on  either  side  that  almost  engulfed  it. 
It  was  late.  The  street  was  quiet.  The  shops  and  stores 
had  long  since  been  closed,  Max  Diestricht's  among  them — 
the  old  Hollanders'  name  in  painted  white  letters  stood  out 
against  the  background  of  a  darkened  workshop  window. 
In  the  story  above,  the  lights,  too,  were  out ;  Max  Diestricht 
was  probably  fast  asleep — and  he  was  stone  deaf ! 

A  glance  up  and  down  the  street,  and  Jimmie  Dale  was 
standing,  or,  rather,  leaning  against  Max  Diestricht's  door. 
There  was  no  one  to  see,  and  if  there  were,  what  was  there 
to  attract  attention  to  a  man  standing  nonchalantly  for  a 
moment  in  a  doorway  ?  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  Those, 
master  fingers  of  Jimmie  Dale  were  working  surely,  swiftly, 
silently.  A  little  steel  instrument  that  was  never  out  of  his 
possession  was  in  the  lock  and  out  again.  The  door  opened. 


THE  ALIBI 

closed;  he  drew  the  black  silk  mask  from  his  pocket  and 
slipped  it  over  his  face.  Immediately  in  front  of  him  the 
stairs  led  upward  ;  immediately  to  his  right  was  the  door  into 
the  shop — the  modest  street  entrance  was  common  to  both. 

The  door  into  the  workshop  was  not  locked.  He  opened 
it,  steped  inside,  and  closed  it  quietly  behind  him.  The 
olace  was  in  blackness.  He  stood  for  a  moment  silent,  strain 
ing  his  ears  to  catch  the  slightest  sound,  reconstructing  the 
olan  of  his  surroundings  in  his  mind  as  he  remembered  it. 
It  was  a  narrow,  oblong  room,  running  the  entire  depth  of 
the  building,  a  very  long  room,  blank  walls  on  either  side, 
a  window  in  the  middle  of  the  rear  wall  that  gave  on  a 
back  yard,  and  from  the  back  yard  there  was  access  to  the 
lane ;  also,  as  he  remembered  the  place,  it  was  a  riot  of  dis 
order,  with  workbenches  and  odds  and  ends  strewn  with 
out  system  or  reason  in  every  direction — one  had  need  of 
care  to  negotiate  it  in  the  dark.  He  took  his  flashlight  from 
his  pocket,  and,  preliminary  to  a  more  intimate  acquaint 
ance  with  the  interior,  glanced  out  through  the  front  window 
near  which  he  stood— and,  with  a  suppressed  cry,  shrank 
back  instinctively  against  the  wall. 

Two  men  were  crossing  the  street,  heading  directly  for 
the  shop  door.  The  arc  lamp  lighted  up  their  faces.  It  was 
Inspector  Lannigan  of  headquarters  and  Whitey  Mack! 
The  quick  intake  of  Jimmie  Dale  breath  was  sucked  through 
clenched  teeth.  They  were  close  on  his  heels  then — far 
closer  than  he  had  imagined.  It  would  take  Whitey  Mack 
scarcly  any  longer  to  open  that  front  door  than  it  had  taken 
him.  Close  on  his  heels!  His  face  was  rigid.  He  could 
hear  them  now  at  the  door.  The  flashlight  in  his  hand 
winked  down  the  length  of  the  room.  It  vas  a  dangerous 
thing  to  do,  but  it  was  still  more  dangerous  to  stumble 
into  some  object  and  make  a  noise.  He  darted  forward, 
circuiting  a  workbench,  a  stool,  a  small  hand  forge.  Again 
the  flashlight  gleamed.  Against  the  side  wall,  near  the  rear, 
was  another  workbench,  with  a  sort  of  coarse  canvas  cur 
tain  hanging  part  way  down  in  front  of  it,  evidently  to  pro 
tect  such  things  as  might  be  stored  away  beneath  it  from 


280    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

dust,  and  Jimmie  Dale  sprang  for  it,  whipped  back  the  caiv 
vas,  and  crawled  underneath.  He  was  not  an  instant  too 
soon.  As  the  canvas  fell  back  into  place,  the  shop  door 
opened,  closed,  and  the  two  men  had  stepped  inside. 

Whitey  Mack's  voice,  in  a  low  whisper  though  it  was, 
seemed  to  echo  raucously  through  the  shop. 

"  Mabbe  we'll  have  a  sweet  wait,  but  I  got  the  straight 
dope  on  this.  He's  going  to  make  a  try  for  Dutchy's  spar 
klers  to-night.  We'll  let  him  go  the  limit,  and  we  don't  either 
of  us  make  a  move  till  he's  pinched  them,  and  then  we  get 
him  with  the  goods  on  him.  He  can't  get  away ;  he  hasn't 
a  hope !  There's  only  two  ways  of  getting  in  here  or  getting 
out — this  door  and  window  here,  and  a  window  that's  down 
there  at  the  back.  You  guard  this,  and  I'll  take  care  of  tht 
other  end.  Savvy  ?  " 

"  Right !  "  Lannigan  answered  grimly.    "  Go  ahead !  " 

There  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  moving  forward,  then 
a  vicious  bump,  the  scraping  of  some  object  along  the  floor, 
and  a  muffled  curse  from  Whitey  Mack. 

"  Use  your  flashlight!  "  advised  the  inspector,  in  a  guarded 
Yoice. 

"  I  haven't  got  one,  damn  it ! "  growled  Whitey  Mack. 
*  It's  all  right.  I'll  get  along." 

Again  the  steps,  but  more  warily  now,  as  though  the  man 
were  cautiously  feeling  ahead  of  him  for  possible  obstacles. 
Jimmie  Dale  for  a  moment  held  his  breath.  He  could  have 
reached  out  and  touched  the  man  as  the  other  passed. 
Whitey  Mack  went  on  until  he  had  taken  up  a  position 
against  the  rear  wall.  Jimmie  Dale  heard  him  as  he  brushed 
against  it. 

Then  silence  fell.  He  was  between  them  now.  Stretched 
tui)  length  on  the  floor,  Jimmie  Dale  raised  the  lower  por 
tion  of  the  canvas  away  from  in  front  of  his  face.  He  could 
see  nothing ;  the  place  was  in  Stygian  blackness ;  but  it  had 
been  close  and  stifling,  and,  at  least,  it  gave  him  more  air. 

The  minutes  dragged  by — each  more  interminable  than  the 
we  that  had  gone  before.  Not  a  movement,  not  a  sound, 
And  then,  through  the  stillness,  very  faint  at  first,  came  tbf 


THE  ALIBI  281 

regular,  repressed  breathing  of  Whitey  Mack,  who  was  much 
tiie  nearer  of  the  two  men.  And,  once  noticeable,  almost  im 
perceptible  as  it  was.  it  seemed  to  pervade  the  room  and  fill 
it  with  a  strange,  ominous  resonance  that  rose  and  fell  until 
the  blackness  palpitated  with  it. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  crept  into  his 
pocket — and  crept  out  again  with  his  automatic.  He  lay  mo 
tionless  once  more.  Time  in  any  concrete  sense  ceased  to 
exist.  Fancied  shapes  began  to  assume  form  in  the  dark 
ness.  By  the  door,  Lannigan  stirred  uneasily,  shifting  his 
position  slightly. 

Was  it  hours — was  it  only  minutes?  It  seemed  to  ring 
through  the  nerve-racking  stillness  like  the  shriek  of  a 
hurtling  shell — and  it  was  only  a  whisper. 

"  Watch  yourself,  Lannigan,"  whispered  Whitey  Mack, 
"  He's  coming  now  through  the  yard !  Don't  move  till  I 
start  something.  Let  him  get  his  paws  on  the  sparklers." 

Silence  again.  And  then  a  low  rasping  at  the  window, 
like  the  gnawing  of  a  rat ;  then,  inch  by  inch,  the  sash  was 
lifted.  There  was  the  sound  as  of  a  body  forcing  its  way 
over  the  sill  cautiously,  then  a  step  upon  the  floor  inside, 
another,  and  still  another.  The  figure  of  a  man  loomed  up 
suddenly  against  the  glow  of  a  flashlight  as  he  threw  the 
round,  white  ray  inquisitively  here  and  there  over  the  rear 
wall.  And  now  he  appeared  to  be  counting  the  boards, 
One,  two,  three — ten.  His  hand  ran  up  and  down  the  tenth 
board.  Again  and  again  he  repeated  the  operation,  and 
something  like  the  snarl  of  a  baited  beast  echoed  through  the 
room.  He  half  turned  to  snatch  at  something  in  his  pocket, 
and  the  light  for  a  moment  showed  a  black-bearded,  lower 
ing  face,  partially  hidden  by  a  peaked  cap  that  was  pulled 
far  down  over  his  eyes. 

There  was  the  rip  and  tear  of  rending  wood,  as  a  steel 
jimmy,  in  lieu  of  the  spring  the  man  evidently  could  not 
find,  bit  in  between  the  boards,  a  muttered  oath  of  satisfac 
tion,  and  a  portion  of  the  wall  slid  back,  disclosing  what 
looked  like  a  metal-lined  cupboaixl.  He  reached  in,  seized 
one  of  a  dozen  little  boxes,  and  wrenched  off  th*  cover.  A 


282    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

blue,  scintillating  gleam  seemed  to  leap  out  to  meet  thft 
white  ray  of  the  flashlight.  The  man  chuckled  hoarsely,  and 
began  to  cram  the  rest  of  the  boxes  into  his  pockets. 

Jimmie  Dale  stirred.  On  hands  and  knees  he  was  creep 
ing  now  from  beneath  the  workbench.  Something  caught 
and  tore  behind  him — the  canvas  curtain.  And  at  the  sound, 
with  a  sharp  cry,  the  man  at  the  wall  whirled,  the  light  went 
out,  and  he  sprang  toward  the  window.  Jimmie  Dale  gained 
his  feet  and  leaped  forward.  A  revolver  shot  cut  a  lane  of 
fire  through  the  blackness ;  and,  above  the  roar  of  the  report, 
Whitey  Mack's  voice  in  a  fierce  yell: 

"It's  all  x'ight,  Lannigan!  I  got  him!  No — hell!" 
There  was  a  terrific  crash  of  breaking  glass.  "  He's  got 
away !  " 

"  Not  yet,  he  hasn't !  "  gritted  Jimmie  Dale  between  his 
teeth,  and  his  clubbed  revolver  swung  crashing  to  the  head 
of  a  dark  form  in  front  of  him. 

There  was  a  half  sigh,  half  moan.  The  form  slid  limply 
to  the  floor.  Lannigan  was  floundering  down  the  shop,  leap 
ing  obstacles  in  a  mad  rush,  his  flashlight  picking  out  the 
way. 

Jimmie  Dale  stepped  swiftly  backward,  and  his  hand 
groped  out  for  the  droplight,  over  the  end  of  the  bench, 
that  he  had  knocked  against  in  his  own  rush.  His  fingers 
clutched  it — and  the  lower  end  of  the  shop  was  flooded 
with  light.  Except  for  his  felt  hat  that  lay  a  little  distance 
away,  there  was  no  sign  of  Whitey  Mack ;  the  huddled 
form  of  the  man,  who  but  a  moment  since  had  chuckled 
as  he  pocketed  old  Max  Diestricht's  gems,  lay  sprawled, 
inert,  upon  the  floor,  and  Lannigan  was  staring  into  the 
muzzle  of  Jimmie  Dale's  automatic. 

"  Drop  that  gun,  Lannigan !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  coolly. 
"  And  I'll  trouble  you  not  to  make  a  noise ;  it  might  attract 
attention  from  the  street ;  there's  been  too  much  already. 
Drop  that  gun!" 

The  revolver  clattered  from  Lannigan's  hand  to  the  floor, 
A  step  forward,  and  Jimmie  Dale's  toe  sent  it  spinning  under 
a  bench.  Another  step,  and,  his  revolver  still  covering  th« 


THE  ALIBI  203 

other,  he  had  whipped  a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  the  officer's 
side  pocket. 

Lannigan,  as  though  the  thought  had  never  occurred  to 
him,  offered  no  resistance.  He  was  storing  in  a  dazed  sort 
of  way  back  and  forth  from  Jimmie  Dale  to  the  man  on  the 
floor. 

"  What's     this     mean  ? "     he     burst     out      suddenly, 

"  Where's " 

"Your  wrist,  please!  "  requ*  ted  Jimmie  Dale  pleasantly. 
**  No — the  left  one.  Thank  you  " — as  ttie  handcuff  snapped 
shut.  "  Now  go  over  there  and  s:t  down  on  the  floor  beside 
that  fellow.  Quick!"  Jimmie  Dale's  voice  rasped  sud 
denly,  imperatively. 

Still  bewildered,  but  a  little  sullen  now,  Lannigan  obeyed. 
Jimmie  Dale  stooped  quickly,  and  snapped  the  other  link  of 
the  handcuff  over  the  unconscious  man's  right  wrist. 
Jimmie  Dale  smiled. 

"That's  the  approved  way  of  taking  your  man,  isn't  it? 
Left  wrist  to  the  prisoner's  right.    He's  only  stunned ;  he'll 
be  around  in  a  moment.    Know  him  ?  " 
Lannigan  shook  his  head. 

"  Take  a  good  look  at  him,"  invited  Jimmie  Dale.  u  You 
ought  to  know  most  of  them  in  the  business." 

Lannigan  bent  over  a  little  closer,  and  then,  with  an 
amazed  cry,  his  free  hand  shot  forward  and  tore  away  the 
other's  beard. 

It  was  Whitey  Mack ! 
"  My  God !  "  gasped  Lannigan. 

"  Quite  so !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  evenly.  "  You'll  find  the 
diamonds  in  his  pockets,  and,  excuse  me  " — his  fingers  were 
running  through  Whitey  Mack's  clothes — "  ah,  here  it  is  " 
— the  thin  metal  case  was  in  his  hand — "  a  little  article  that 
belongs  to  me,  and  whose  loss,,  I  am  free  to  admit,  caused 
me  considerable  concern  until  I  was  informed  that  he  had 
only  found  it  without  having  the  slightest  idea  as  to  whom 
it  belonged.  It  miide  quite  a  difference !  "  He  had  opened 
the  case  carelessly  before  Lannigan's  eyes.  "  '  The  Gray 
Seal  I '  I'll  say  it  for  you,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  whimsically 


284    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

*  This  is  what  probably  put  the  idea  into  his  head,  atte. 
first,  in  s^ine  wa",  having  discovered  old  Max  Diestricht's 
hiding  piace;  and,  :f  I  ->ad  given  him  time  enough,  he  woulc 
probably  have  stuck  one  of  these  seals,  in  clumsy  imitation 
of  -hat  little  eccentricity  of  mine,  on  the  wall  over  there 
to  stamp  the  job  as  genuine.  You  begin  to  get  it,  don't  you, 
Lannigan  ?  Pretty  sure-fire  as  an  alibi,  eh  ?  And  he'd  have 
got  away  with  it,  too,  as  far  as  you  were  concerned.  He 
had  only  to  fire  that  shot,  smash  the  window,  tuck  his  false 
beard,  mustache,  and  peaked  cap  into  his  pocket,  put  on  his 
own  hat  that  you  se  there  on  the  floor — and  yell  that  the 
man  had  escaped.  He'd  help  you  chase  the  thief,  too! 
Rather  neat,  don't  you  think,  Lannigan?  And  worth  the 
risk,  too,  considering  the  howl  that  would  go  up  af  tht  theft 
of  those  stones,  and  that,  known  as  the  slickest  diamond  thief 
in  the  country,  he  would  be  the  first  to  be  suspected — ex 
cept  that  the  police  themselves,  in  the  person  of  Inspector 
Lannigan  of  headquarters,  would  be  prepared  to  prove  a 
perfectly  good  alibi  for  him." 

Lannigan's  head  was  thrust  forward ;  his  eyes,  hard,  were 
riveted  on  Whitey  Mack. 

"  My  God !  "  he  said  again  under  his  breath.  Then 
fiercely :  "  He'll  get  his  for  this !  " 

It  was  a  moment  before  Jimmie  Dale  spoke;  he  was 
musingly  examining  the  automatic  in  his  hand. 

"  I  am  going  now,  Lannigan,"  he  observed  quietly.  "  I 
require,  say,  fifteen  minutes  in  which  to  effect  my  escape. 
It  is,  of  course,  obvious  that  an  alarm  raised  by  you  might 
prove  extremely  awkward,  but  a  piece  of  canvas  from  that 
bench  there,  together  with  a  bit  of  string,  would  make  a 
most  effective  gag.  I  prefer,  however,  not  to  submit  you 
to  that  in  dignity.  Instead,  I  offer  you  the  alternative  of 
giving  me  your  word  to  retrain  quietly  where  you  are 
for — fifteen  nmutes." 

Lannigan  hesitated. 

Jimmie  Dale  smiled. 

*  I  agree,"  said  Lannigan  shortly. 

Jimmie    Dale   stepped   back.     The   electric-light 


THE  ALIBI  285 

clicked.  The  place  was  in  darkness.  There  was  a  moment, 
two,  of  utter  stillness;  then  softly,  from  the  front  end  of 
the  shop,  a  whisper: 

"If  I  were  you,  Lannigan,  I'd  take  that  gun  from  Whitey's 
pocket  before  he  comes  round  and  beats  you  to  it." 

And  the  door  had  closed  silently  behind  Jimmie  Dale. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   STOOL-PIGEON 

I  N  the  subway,  ten  minutes  before,  a  freckled-faced 
•*•  senger  boy  had  squeezed  himself  into  a  beat  beside 
Jimmie  Dale,  yanked  a  dime  novel  from  a  refractory  pocket, 
and,  blissfully  lost  to  all  the  world,  had  buried  his  head  in 
its  pages.  Jimmie  Dale's  glance  at  the  youngster  had  equally, 
perforce,  embraced  the  lurid  title  of  the  thriller,  "  Dicing 
with  Death,"  so  imperturbably  thrust  under  his  nose.  At 
the  time,  he  had  smiled  indulgently ;  but  now,  as  he  left  the 
subway  and  headed  for  his  home  on  Riverside  Drive,  the 
vrords  not  only  refused  to  be  ignored,  but  had  resolved  them 
selves  into  a  curiously  persistent  refrain  in  his  mind.  The] 
were  exactly  what  they  purported  to  be,  dime-novelish,  of 
the  deepest  hue  of  yellow,  melodramatic  in  the  extreme ;  but 
also,  to  him  now,  they  were  grimly  apt  and  premonitorily 
appropriate.  "  Dicing  with  Death  " — there  was  not  an  hour: 
not  a  moment  in  the  day,  when  he  was  not  literally  dicing 
with  death ;  when,  with  the  underworld  and  the  police  allied 
against  him,  a  single  false  move  would  lose  him  the  throw 
that  left  death  the  winner! 

The  risk  of  the  dual  life  enforced  upon  him  grew  daily 
greater,  and  in  the  end  there  must  be  the  reckoning.  He 
would  have  been  a  madman  to  have  shut  his  eyes  in  the  face 
of  what  was  obvious — but  it  was  worth  it  all,  and  in  his 
soul  he  knew  that  he  would  not  have  had  it  otherwise  even 
now.  To-night,  to-morrow,  the  day  after,  would  come 
another  letter  from  the  Tocsin,  and  there  would  be  another 
w  crime  "  of  the  Gray  Seal's  blazoned  in  the  press — would 
that  be  the  last  affair,  or  would  there  be  another — or  to 
night,  to-morrow,  the  day  after,  would  he  be  trapped  before 
»'*en  one  more  letter  came ! 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  287 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  he  ran  up  the  steps  of  his 
house.  Those  were  the  stakes  that  he  himself  had  laid  on 
ihe  table  to  wager  upon  the  game,  he  had  no  quarrel  there ; 
but  if  only,  before  the  end  came,  or  even  with  the  end  itself, 
he  could  find — her! 

With  his  latchkey  he  let  himself  into  the  spacious,  richly 
furnished,  well-lighted  reception  hall,  and,  crossing  this, 
went  up  the  broad  staircase,  his  steps  noiseless  on  the  heavy 
carpet.  Below,  faintly,  he  could  hear  some  of  the  servants 
— they  evidently  had  not  heard  him  close  the  door  behind 
him.  Discipline  was  relaxed  somewhat,  it  was  quite  ap 
parent,  with  Jason,  that  peer  of  butlers,  away.  Jason, 
poor  chap,  was  in  the  hospital.  Typhoid,  they  had  thought 
it  at  first,  though  it  had  turned  out  to  be  some  milder  form 
of  infection.  He  would  be  back  in  a  few  days  now;  but 
meanwhile  he  missed  the  old  man  sorely  from  the  house. 

He  reached  the  landing,  and,  turning,  went  along  the  hall 
to  the  door  of  his  own  particular  den,  opened  the  door, 
dosed  it  behind  him — and  in  an  instant  the  keen,  agile  brain, 
trained  to  the  little  things  that  never  escaped  it,  that  daily 
held  his  life  in  the  balance,  was  alert.  The  room  was  un 
usually  dark,  even  for  night-time.  It  was  as  though  the 
window  shades  had  been  closely  drawn — a  thing  Jason  never 
did.  But  then  Jason  wasn't  there!  Jimmie  Dale,  smiling 
then  a  little  quizzically  at  himself,  reached  up  for  the  elec 
tric-light  switch  beside  the  door,  pressed  it — and,  his  finger 
still  on  the  buttom,  whipped  his  automatic  from  his  pocket 
with  his  other  hand.  The  room  was  still  in  darkness. 

The  smile  on  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  was  gone,  for  his  lips 
now  had  closed  together  in  a  tight,  drawn  line.  The  lights 
in  the  rest  of  the  house,  as  witness  the  reception  hall,  were 
in  order.  This  was  no  accident!  Silent,  motionless,  he 
stood  there,  listening.  Was  he  trapped  at  last — in  his  own 
house!  By  whom?  The  police?  The  thugs  of  the  under 
world  ?  It  made  little  difference — the  end  would  differ  only 
in  the  method  by  which  it  was  attained!  What  was  that! 
Was  there  a  slight  stir,  a  movement  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
room — or  was  it  his  imagination?  His  hand  fell  from  the 


288    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

electric-light  switch  to  the  doorknob  behind  his  back 
Slowly,  without  a  sound,  it  began  to  turn  under  his  slim, 
tapering  fingers,  whose  deft,  sensitive  touch  had  made  him 
known  and  feared  as  the  master  cracksman  of  them  all; 
and,  as  noiselessly,  the  door  began  to  open. 

It  was  like  a  duel — a  duel  of  silence.  What  was  the 
intruder,  whoever  he  might  be,  waiting  for?  The  abortive 
click  of  the  electric-light  switch,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
opening  of  the  door  when  he  had  entered,  was  evidence 
enough  that  he  was  there.  Was  the  other  trying  to  place 
him  exactly  through  the  darkness  to  make  sure  of  his  at 
tack  !  The  door  was  open  now.  And  suddenly  Jimmie 
Dale  laughed  easily  aloud — and  on  the  instant  shifted  his 
position. 

"  Well  ?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale  coolly  from  the  other  side 
of  the  threshold. 

It  seemed  like  a  long-drawn  sigh  fluttering  through  the 
room,  a  gasp  of  relief — and  then  the  blood  was  pounding 
madly  at  his  temples,  and  he  was  back  in  the  room  again, 
the  door  closed  once  more  behind  him. 

"  Oh,  Jimmie — why  didn't  you  speak  ?  I  had  to  be  sure 
"hat  it  was  you." 

It  was  her  voice!  Hers!  The  Tocsin!  Here!  She 
'.vas  here — here  in  his  house! 

"  You !  "  he  cried.  "  You — here !  "  He  was  pressing  the 
electric-light  switch  frantically,  again  and  again. 

Her  voice  came  out  of  the  darkness  from  across  the  room: 

"  Why  are  you  doing  that,  Jimmie?  You  know  already 
that  I  have  turned  off  the  lights." 

"  At  the  sockets — of  course !  "  He  laughed  out  the  words 
almost  hysterically.  "  Your  face — I  have  never  seen  your 
face,  you  know."  He  was  moving  quickly  toward  the  read 
ing  lamp  on  his  desk. 

There  was  a  quick,  hurried  swish  of  garments,  and  she 
was  blocking  his  way. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  you  must  not  light 
that  lamp." 

He  laughed  again,  shortly,  fiercely  now.     She  was  close 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  289 

v«  him    his  hands  reached  out  for  her,  touched  her,  and 
thrilling  at  the  touch,  swept  her  toward  him 

'  Jimmie — -Jimmie — are  you  mad  !  "  she  breathed. 

Mad  !  Yes — he  was  mad  with  the  wildest,  most  passionate 
exhilaration  he  had  ever  known.  He  found  his  voice  with 
an  effort. 

"  These  months  and  years  that  1  have  tried  until  my  soul 
was  sick  to  find  you ! "  he  cried  out.  "  And  you  are  here 
now !  Your  face — I  must  see  your  face !  " 

She  had  wrenched  herself  away  from  him.  He  could 
Hear  her  breath  coming  sharply  in  little  gasps.  He  groped 
his  way  onward  toward  the  desk. 

"Wait!" — her  tones  seemed  to  ring  suddenly  vibrant 
through  the  rocrm.  "Wait,  before  you  touch  that  lampl 
I — I  put  you  on  your  honour  not  to  light  it," 

He  stopped  abruptly. 

tr  My — honour  ?  "  he  repeated  mechanically. 

"  Yes !  I  came  here  to-night  because  there  was  no  other 
way.  No  other  way — do  you  understand?  I  came,  trust 
ing  to  your  honour  not  to  take  advantage  of  the  conditions 
that  forced  me  to  do  this.  I  had  no  fear  that  I  was  wrong 
— I  have  no  fear  now.  You  will  not  light  that  lamp,  and 
you  will  not  make  any  attempt  to  prevent  my  going  away 
as  I  came — unknown.  Is  there  any  question  about  it,  Jim 
mie?  I  am  in  your  house." 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying!"  he  burst  out 
wildly.  "  I've  risked  my  life  for  a  chance  like  this  again 
and  again;  I've  gone  through  hell,  living  in  squalour  for  a 
month  on  end  as  Larry  the  Bat  in  the  hope  that  I  might 
discover  who  you  are — and  do  you  think  I'll  let  anything 
stop  me  now !  I  tell  you,  no — a  thousand  times  no !  " 

She  made  no  answer.  There  was  only  her  low,  quick 
breathing  coming  from  somewhere  near  him.  He  made  an 
other  step  toward  the  lamp — and  stopped. 

"  I  tell  you,  no ! "  he  said  again,  and  took  another  step 
forward — and  stopped  once  more. 

Still  she  made  no  answer.  A  minute,  passed — another 
His  hand  lifted  and  swept  across  his  forehead  in  an  agitated 


290    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  BALE 

way  Still  silence.  She  neither  moved  nor  spoke  His  hanc 
dropped  slowly  to  his  side.  There  was  a  queer,  twisted  smil* 
upon  his  lips 

"  You  win !  "  he  said  hoarsely. 

"  Thank  you,  Timmie,"  she  said  simply. 

"  And  your  name,  who  you  ...re  " — he  was  speaking,  but 
he  did  not  seem  to  recognise  iiis  own  voice — "  the  hundred 
other  things  I've  sworn  I'd  make  you  explain  when  I  found 
you,  are  all  taboo  as  well,  I  suppose ! " 

u  Yes,"  she  said. 

He  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  he  cried  out,  "  that  between  the  police 
and  the  underworld,  our  house  of  cards  is  likely  to  collapse 
at  any  minute — that  they  are  hunting  the  Gray  Seal  day  and 
night !  Is  it  to  be  always  like  this — that  I  am  never  to  know 
—until  it  is  too  late !  " 

She  came  toward  him  out  of  the  darkness  impulsively. 

"  They  will  never  get  you,  Jimmie,"  she  said,  in  a  sup 
pressed  voice.  "  And  some  day,  I  promise  you  now,  you 
shall  have  your  reward  for  to-night.  You  shall  know— 
everything." 

44  When  ?  "  The  word  came  from  him  with  fierce  eager 
ness. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered  gently.  "  Soon,  perhaps 
—perhaps  sooner  than  either  of  us  imagine.'* 

"  And  by  that  you  mean — what  ? "  he  asked,  and  his 
hand  reached  out  for  her  again  through  the  blackness. 

This  time  she  did  not  draw  away.  There  was  an  instant's 
hesitation ;  then  she  spoke  again  hurriedly,  a  note  of  anxiety 
in  her  voice. 

"You  are  beginning  all  over  again,  aren't  you,  Jimmfer 
And  I  have  told  you  that  to-night  I  can  explain  nothing. 
And,  besides,  it  is  what  has  brought  me  here  that  counts  now, 
and  every  moment  is  of " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  interposed ;  "  but,  then,  at  least  you 
will  tell  me  one  thing :  Why  did  you  come  to-night,  instead 
of  sending  me  a  letter  as  you  always  have  before  ?  " 

*  because  it  is  different  to-night  than  it  ever  was  before* 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  291 

<he  replied  earnestly.  "  Because  there  is  something  in  what 
has  happened  that  I  cannot  explain  myself ;  because  there  is 
danger,  and  where  I  could  not  see  clearly  I  feared  a  trap, 
and  so  I  dared  not  send  what,  in  a  letter,  could  at  best  be 
only  vague  and  incomplete  details.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale — but  he  was  only  listening  in  ap 
abstracted  way.  If  he  could  only  see  that  face,  so  close  to 
his!  He  had  yearned  for  that  with  all  his  soul  for  years 
now !  And  she  was  here,  standing  beside  him,  and  his  hand 
was  upon  her  arm ;  and  here,  in  his  own  den,  in  his  own 
house,  he  was  listening  to  another  call  to  arms  for  the  Gray 
Seal  from  her  own  lips !  Honour !  Was  he  but  a  poor, 
quixotic  fool !  He  had  only  to  step  to  the  desk  and  switch  on 
the  light !  Why  should — he  steadied  himself  with  a  jerk,  and 
drew  away  his  hand.  She  was  in  his  house.  "  Go  on,"  he 
said  tersely. 

"  Do  you  know,  or  did  you  ever  hear  of  old  Luther 
Doyle  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Jimmie  Dale. 

*'  Do  you  know  a  man,  then,  named  Connie  Myers?  " 

Connie  Myers!  Who  in  the  Bad  Lands  did  not  know 
Connie  Myers,  who  boasted  of  the  half  dozen  prison  sen 
tences  already  to  his  credit  ?  Yes ;  he  knew  Connie  Myers ! 
But,  strangely  enough,  it  was  not  in  the  Bad  Lands  or  as 
Larry  the  Bat  that  he  knew  the  man,  or  that  the  other  knew 
him — it  was  as  Jimmie  Dale.  Connie  Myers  had  introduced 
himself  one  night  several  years  ago  with  a  blackjack  that 
had  just  missed  its  mark  as  the  man  had  jumped  out  from 
a  dark  alleyway  on  the  East  Side,  and  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  had 
thrashed  the  other  to  within  an  inch  of  his  life.  He  had 
reason  to  know  Connie  Myers — and  Connie  Myers  had  rea 
son  to  remember  him  I 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile ;  "  I  know  Connie 
Myers." 

"  And  the  tenement  across  the  street  from  where  you  live 
as  Larry  the  Bat — that,  of  course,  you  know." 

He  leaned  toward  her  wonderingly  now. 

*  Of  course !  "  he  ejaculated.    "  Naturally !  " 

"  JUsten,  then-  Jimmie '  "    She  was  speaking  quickly 


292    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALt 

"  It  is  a  strange-  story.  This  Luther  Doyle  was  already  ortv 
fifty,  when,  some  eight  or  nine  years  ago,  his  parents  died! 
within  a  few  months  of  each  other,  and  he  inherited  some 
where  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  *f 
but  the  man,  though  harmless  enough,  was  mildly  insane, 
half-witted,  queer,  and  the  old  couple,  on  account  of  their 
son's  mental  defects,  took  care  to  leave  the  money  securely 
invested,  and  so  that  he  could  only  touch  the  interest.  Dur 
ing  these  eight  or  nine  years  he  has  lived  by  himself  in  the 
same  old  family  house  where  he  had  lived  with  his  parents,  in 
a  lonely  spot  near  Pelham.  And  he  has  lived  in  a  most  frugal, 
even  miserly,  manner.  His  income  could  not  have  been 
less  than  six  thousand  dollars  a  yv.ar,  and  his  expenditures 
could  not  have  been  more  than  six  hundred.  His  dementi*^ 
ironically  enough  from  the  day  that  he  came  into  his  fortune, 
took  the  form  of  a  most  pitiable  and  abject  fear  that  he 
would  die  in  poverty,  misery,  and  want ;  and  so,  year  aftei 
year,  cashing  his  checks  as  fast  as  he  got  them,  never  trust 
ing  the  bank  with  a  penny,  he  kept  hiding  away  somewhere 
in  his  house  every  cent  he  could  scrape  and  save  from  his 
income — which  to-day  must  amount,  at  a  minimum  calcula 
tion,  to  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  And,"  observed  Jimmie  Dale  quietly.  "  Connie  Myer* 
robbed  him  of  it,  and " 

"  No ! "  Her  voice  was  quivering  with  passion,  as  she 
caught  up  his  words.  "  Twice  in  the  last  month  Connie 
Myers  tried  to  rob  him,  but  the  money  was  too  securely  hid 
den.  Twice  he  broke  into  Doyle's  house  when  the  olc? 
man  was  out,  but  on  both  occasions  was  unsuccessful  in  his: 
search,  and  was  interrupted  and  forced  to  make  his  escape 
on  account  of  Doyle's  return.  To-night,  an  hour  ago,  in  an 
empty  room  on  the  second  floor  of  that  tenement,  in  the 
room  facing  the  landing,  old  Luther  Doyle  was  murdered!'1 

There  was  silence  for  an  instant.  Her  hand  had  closed  in 
a  tight  pressure  on  his  arm.  The  darkness  seemed  to  add 
%  sort  of  ghastly  significance  to  her  words. 

"  In  God's  name,  how  do  you  know  all  this  ? "  he  de 
manded  wildly.  "  Ho\v  ^  you  know  all  these  things  ?  " 

"  Does  that  matfc~7  now  ?  "  she  answered  tensely0 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  298 

mil  know  that  when  you  know  the  rest.  Oh,  don't  you  un 
derstand,  Jimmie,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  lose  now  ?  It 
was  easy  to  lure  a  half-witted  creature  like  that  anywhere; 
it  was  Connie  Myers  who  lured  him  to  the  tenement  and 
murdered  him  there — but  from  that  point,  Jimmie,  I  am 
not  sure  of  our  ground.  I  do  not  know  whether  Connie 
Myers  is  alone  in  this  or  not ;  but  I  do  know  that  he  is  going 
to  Doyle's  house  again  to-night  to  make  another  search 
for  the  money.  There  is  no  *uestion  but  that  old  Doyle  was 
murdered  to  give  Connie  Myers  and  his  accomplices,  if  there 
are  any,  a  chance  to  tear  the  house  inside  out  to  find  the 
money,  to  give  them  the  whole  night  to  work  in  without 
interruption  if  necessary — but  Doyle  dead  in  his  own  house 
could  have  interfered  no  more  with  them  than  Doyle  dead  in 
that  tenement !  Why  was  he  lured  to  the  tenement  by  Con 
nie  Myers  when  he  could  much  more  easily  have  been  put 
out  of  the  way  in  his  own  house?  Jimmie,  there  is  some 
thing  behind  this,  something  more  that  you  must  find  out. 
There  may  be  others  in  this  besides  Connie  Myers,  I  do  not 
know;  but  there  is  something  here  that  I  am  afraid  of. 
Jimmie,  you  must  get  that  man,  you  must  get  the  others  if 
there  are  others,  and  you  must  stop  them  from  getting  the 
money  in  that  house  to-night !  Do  you  understand  now  why 
I  have  come  here  ?  I  could  not  explain  in  a  letter ;  I  do  not 
quite  seem  to  be  explaining-  now.  It  would  seem  as  though 
there  were  no  need  for  the  Gray  Seal — that  simply  the  police 
should  be  notified.  But  I  know,  Jimmie,  call  it  intuition, 
what  you  will,  I  know  that  there  is  need  for  us,  for  you  to 
night — that  behind  all  this  is  a  tragedy,  deeper,  blacker,  than 
even  the  brutal,  cold-blooded  murder  that  is  already  done." 
Her  voice,  in  its  passionate  earnestness,  died  away;  antf 
an  anger,  cold,  grim,  remorseless,  settled  upon  Jimmie  Dak 
— settled  as  it  alway  settled  upon  him  at  her  call  to  arm." 
His  brain  was  already  at  work  in  its  quick,  instant  way 
probing,  sifting,  planning.  She  was  right!  It  was  strange, 
it  was  more  than  strange  that,  with  the  added  risk,  the 
danger,  the  difficulty,  the  man  should  have  been  brought 
to  be  done  away  with  in  that  tenement !  Why  ?  Conrua 


294    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Myers  took  form  before  him — the  coarse  features,  the 
tawny  hair  that  straggled  across  the  low  forehead,  the  shifty 
eyes  that  were  an  indeterminate  colour  between  brown  ant 
gray,  the  thin  lips  that  seemed  to  draw  in  and  give  the  javr 
a  protruding,  belligerent  effect.  And  Connie  Myers  knew 
him  as  Jimmie  Dale — it  would  have  to  be  then  as  Larry  the 
Bat  that  the  Gray  Seal  must  work.  That  meant  time — to 
go  to  the  Sanctuary  and  change. 

"  The  police,"  he  asked  suddenly,  aloud,  "  they  have  not 
yet  discovered  the  body?" 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied  hurriedly.  "  And  that  is  still  an 
other  reason  for  haste — there  is  no  telling  when  they  will. 
See — here !  "  She  thrust  a  paper  into  his  hand.  "  Here  is 
a  plan  of  old  Doyle's  house,  and  directions  for  rinding  it. 
You  must  get  Connie  Myers  red-handed,  you  must  make 
him  convict  himself,  for  the  evidence  through  which  I  know 
him  to  be  guilty  can  never  be  used  against  him.  And,  Jim 
mie,  be  careful — I  know  I  am  not  wrong,  that  there  is  still 
something  more  behind  all  this.  And  now  go,  Jimmie,  go! 
There  is  no  time  to  lose ! "  She  was  pushing  him  across 
the  room  toward  the  door. 

Go!  The  word  seemed  suddenly  to  bring  dismay.  It 
was  she  again  who  was  dominant  now  in  his  mind.  Who 
knew  if  to-night,  when  he  was  taking  his  life  in  his  hands 
again,  would  not  be  the  last !  And  she  was  here  now,  here 
beside  him — where  she  might  never  be  again! 

She  seemed  to  divine  his  thoughts,  for  she  spoke  again, 
a  strange  new  note  of  tenderness  in  her  voice  that  thrilled 
him. 

"  You  must  never  let  them  get  you,  Jimmie — for  my 
sake.  It  will  not  last  much  longer — it  is  near  the  end — 
and  I  shall  keep  my  promise.  But  go,  now,  Jimmie — go  t  " 

"  Go?  "  he  repeated  numbly.    "  Go?    But— but  you?  " 

"  I  ?  "  She  slipped  suddenly  away  from  him,  retreating' 
back  down  the  room.  "  I  will  go — as  I  came." 

"  Wait !     Listen !  "  he  pleaded. 

There  was  no  answer. 

She  was  there — somewhere  back  there  in  the  darkness 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  295 

still.  He  stood  hesitant  at  the  door.  It  seemed  that  every 
faculty  he  possessed  urged  him  back  there  again — to  her. 
Could  he  let  her  escape  him  now  when  she  was  so  utterly 
in  his  power,  she  who  meant  everything  in  his  life!  And 
then,  like  a  cold  shock,  came  that  other  thought — she  who 
had  trusted  to  his  honour !  With  a  jerk,  his  hand  swept  out, 
felt  for  the  doorknob,  and  closed  upon  it. 

"  Good-night  1 "  he  said  heavily,  and  stepped  out  into  the 

hall. 

It  seemed  for  a  while,  even  after  he  had  gained  the  street 
and  made  his  way  again  to  the  subway,  that  nothing  was  con 
crete  around  him,  that  he  was  living  through  some  fantas 
tical  dream.  His  head  whirled,  and  he  could  not  think 
rationally— and  then  slowly,  little  by  little,  his  grip  upon 
himself  came  back.  She  had  come — and  gone!  With  the 
roar  of  the  subway  in  his  ears,  its  raucous  note  seeming  to 
strike  so  perfectly  in  consonance  with  the  turmoil  within 
him,  he  smiled  mirthlessly.  After  all,  it  was  as  it  always 
was!  She  was  gone — and  ahead  of  him  lay  the  chances 
of  the  night! 

"  Dicing  with  death !  "  The  words,  unbidden,  came  back 
once  more.  If  they  were  true  before,  they  were  doubly  ap 
plicable  now.  It  was  different  to-night  from  what  it  had 
ever  been  before,  as  she  had  said.  Usually,  to  the  smallest 
detail,  everything  wa.s  laid  open,  crear  before  him  in  those 
astounding  letters.  To-night,  it  was  vague  at  best.  A  man 
had  been  murdered.  Connie  Myers  had  committed  the  mur 
der  under  circumstances  that  pointed  strongly  to  some  hid 
den  motive  behind  and  beyond  the  mere  chance  it  afforded 
him  to  search  his  victim's  house  for  the  hidden  cash.  What 
was  it? 

Jimmie  Dale  stared  out  at  the  black  subway  walls.  The 
answer  would  not  come.  Station  after  station  passed.  At 
Fourteenth  Street  he  changed  from  the  express  to  a  local, 
got  out  at  Astor  Place,  and  a  few  minutes  later  was  walking 
rapidly  down  the  upper  end  of  the  Bowery. 

The  answer  would  not  come — only  the  fact  itself  grew 
more  and  more  deeply  significant.  The  ghastly,  callous 


296    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

fiendishness  that  lured  an  old,  half-witted  man  to  his  death 
had  Jimmie  Dale  in  that  grip  of  cold,  merciless  anger  again, 
and  there  was  a  dull  flush  now  upon  his  cheeks.  Whatever 
it  meant,  whatever  was  behind  it,  one  thing  at  least  was 
certain — he  would  get  Connie  Myers! 

He  was  close  to  the  Sanctuary  now — it  was  down  the  next 
cross  street.  He  reached  the  corner  and  turned  it,  head- 
rng  east;  but  his  brisk  walk  had  changed  to  a  nonchalant 
gaunter — there  were  some  people  coming  toward  him.  It 
was  the  Gray  Seal  now,  alert  and  cautious.  The  little  group 
passed  by.  Ahead,  the  tenement  bordering  on  the  black 
alleyway  loomed  up — the  Sanctuary,  with  its  three  entrances 
and  exits ;  the  home  of  Larry  the  Bat.  And  across  from 
it  was  that  other  tenement,  that  held  a  new  interest  for 
him  now,  where,  in  an  empty  room  on  the  second  floor, 
she  had  said,  old  Doyle  still  lay.  Should  he  go  there?  He 
was  thinking  quickly  now,  and  shook  his  head.  It  would 
take  what  he  did  not  have  to  spare — time.  It  was  already  ten 
o'clock ;  and,  granted  that  Connie  Myers  had  committed  the 
crime  only  a  little  over  an  hour  ago,  the  man  by  this  time 
would  certainly  be  on  his  way  to  Doyle's  house  near  Pel- 
ham,  if,  indeed,  he  were  not  already  there.  No,  there  was 
no  time  to  spare — the  question  resolved  itself  simply  into 
how  long,  since  he  had  already  searched  twice  and  failed 
on  both  occasions,  it  would  take  Connie  Myers  to  unearth 
old  Doyle's  hiding  place  for  the  money. 

Jimmie  Dale  glanced  sharply  around  him,  slipped  into 
the  alleyway,  and,  crouching  against  the  tenement  wall, 
moved  noiselessly  along  to  the  side  entrance.  A  moment 
more,  and  he  had  negotiated  the  rickety  stairs  with  prac 
ticed,  soundless  tread,  was  inside  the  squalid  quarters  of 
Larry  the  Bat,  and  the  door  of  the  Sanctuary  was  locked 
and  bolted  behind  him. 

Perhaps  five  minutes  passed — and  then,  where  Jimmie 
Dale,  the  millionaire,  had  entered,  there  emerged  Larry  the 
Bat,  of  the  aristocracy  and  the  elite  of  the  Bad  Lands.  But 
instead  of  leaving  by  the  side  door  and  the  alleyway,  as  he  had 
entered,  he  went  along  the  lower  hallway  to  the  front  en- 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  297 

trance.  And  here,  instinctively,  he  paused  a  moment  at  the 
top  of  the  steps,  as  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  tenement  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street. 

It  was  strange  that  the  crime  should  have  been  committed 
there!  Something  again  seemed  to  draw  him  toward  that 
impty  room  on  the  second  story.  He  had  decided  once  that 
he  would  not  go,  that  there  was  not  time ;  but,  after  all,  it 
would  not  take  long,  and  there  was  at  least  the  possibility 
of  gaining  something  more  valuable  even  than  time  from 
the  scene  of  the  crime  itself — there  might  even  be  the  evi 
dence  he  wanted  there  that  would  disclose  the  whole  of 
Connie  Myers'  game. 

He  went  down  the  steps,  and  started  across  the  street; 
but  halfway  over,  he  hesitated  uncertainly,  as  a  child's  cry 
came  petulantly  from  the  doorway.  It  was  dark  in  th*" 
street;  and,  likewise,  it  was  one  of  those  hot,  suffocating 
evenings  when,  in  the  crowded  tenements  of  the  poorer  class, 
miserable  enough  in  any  case,  misery  was  added  to  a  hun 
dredfold  for  lack  of  a  single  God-given  breath  of  air. 
These  two  facts,  apparently  irrelevant,  caused  Jimmie  Dale 
to  change  his  mind  again.  He  had  not  noticed  the  woman 
with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  sitting  on  the  doorstep ;  but  now, 
as  he  reached  the  curb,  he  not  only  saw,  but  recognised  her 
• — and  he  swung  on  down  the  street  toward  the  Bowery. 
He  could  not  very  well  go  in  without  passing  her,  without 
being  recognised  himself — and  that  was  a  needless  risk. 

He  smiled  a  little  wanly.  Once  the  crime  was  disco-^red, 
*he  would  not  have  hesitated  long  before  informing  the 
police  that  she  had  seen  him  enter  there !  Mrs.  Hagan  was , 
no  friend  of  his!  One  could  not  live  as  he  had  lived,  as 
Larry  the  Bat,  and  not  see  something  in  an  intimate  way 
of  the  pitiful  little  tragedies  of  the  poor  around  him;  for, 
bad,  tough,  and  dissolute  as  the  quarter  was,  all  were  not 
degraded  there,  some  were  simply — poor.  Mrs.  Hagan 
was  poor.  Her  husband  was  a  day  labourer,  often  out  of 
a  job — and  sometimes  he  drank.  That  was  how  he,  Jim 
mie  Dale,  or  rather,  Larry  the  Bat,  had  come  to  earn  Mrs. 
Hagan's  enmity.  He  had  found  Mike  Hagan  drunk  one 


298    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

night,  and  in  the  act  of  being  arrested,  and  had  wheedled 
the  man  away  from  the  officer  on  the  promise  that  he  would 
take  Hagan  home.  And  he  was  Larry  the  Bat,  a  dope 
fiend,  a  character  known  to  all  the  neighbourhood,  and  Mrs. 
Hagan  had  laid  her  husband's  condition  to  his  influence 
and  companionship!  He  had  taken  Mike  Hagan  home^> 
and  Mrs.  Hagan  had  driven  Larry  the  Bat  from  the  door 
of  her  miserable  one-room  lodging  in  that  tenement  with 
the  bitter  words  on  her  tongue  that  only  a  woman  can  use 
when  shame  and  grief  and  anger  are  breaking  her  heart. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as,  back  along  the  Bowery, 
he  retraced  his  steps,  but  now,  with  the  hurried  shuffle  of 
Larry  the  Bat  where  before  had  been  the  brisk,  athletic 
stride  of  Jimmie  Dale. 

At  Astor  Place  again,  he  took  the  subway,  this  time  to 
the  Grand  Central  Station — and,  well  within  an  hour  from 
the  time  he  had  left  the  Sanctuary,  including  the  train 
journey  to  Pelham,  he  was  standing  in  a  clump  of  trees  that 
fringed  a  deserted  roadway.  He  had  passed  but  few  houses, 
once  he  was  away  from  Pelham,  and,  as  well  as  he  could 
judge,  there  was  none  now  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
him — except  this  one  of  old  Luther  Doyle's  that  showed 
up  black  and  shadowy  just  beyond  the  trees. 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  narrowed  as  he  surveyed  the  place. 
It  was  little  wonder  that,  known  to  have  money,  an  attempt 
to  rob  old  Doyle  should  have  been  made  in  a  place  like  this ! 
It  was  even  more  grimly  significant  than  ever  of  some  deeper 
meaning  that,  in  its  loneliness  an  ideal  place  for  a  murder, 
the  man  should  have  been  lured  from  there  for  that  pur 
pose  to  a  crowded  tenement  in  the  city  instead !  What  did 
it  mean?  Why  had  it  been  done ?  He  shook  his  head.  The 
answer  would  not  come  now  any  more  than  it  had  come 
before  in  the  subway,  or  in  the  train  on  the  way  out,  when 
he  had  set  his  brain  so  futilely  to  solve  the  problem. 

From  a  survey  of  the  house,  Jimmie  Dale  gave  attention 
to  the  details  of  his  surroundings :  the  trees  on  either  side ', 
the  open  space  in  front,  a  distance  of  fifty  yards  to  the  road ; 
the  absence  of  any  fence.  And  then,  abruptly,  he  state 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  299 

forward.  There  was  no  light  to  be  seen  anywhere  about 
the  house.  Was  it  possible  that  Connie  Myers  was  not  yet 
there  ?  He  shook  his  head  again  impatiently.  Connie  Myers 
would  not  have  wasted  any  time — as  the  Tocsin  had  said, 
there  was  always  present  the  possibility  that  the  crime  in  that 
tenement  might  be  discovered  at  any  moment.  Connie 
Myers  would  have  lost  no  time;  for,  let  the  discovery  be 
made,  let  the  police  identify  the  body,  as  they  most  certainly 
would,  and  they  would  be  out  here  hotfoot.  Jimmie  Dale 
stood  suddenly  still.  What  did  it  mean !  He  had  not  thought 
of  that  before!  If  old  Doyle  had  been  murdered  here, 
there  would  not  have  been  even  the  possibility  of  discovery 
until  the  morning  at  the  earliest,  and  Connie  Myers  would 
have  had  all  the  time  he  wanted ! 

What  was  that  sound!  A  low,  muffled  tapping,  like  a 
succession  of  hammer  blows,  came  from  within  the  house. 
Jimmie  Dale  darted  forward,  reached  the  side  of  the  house, 
and  dropped  on  hands  and  knees.  One  question  at  least 
was  answered — Connie  Myers  was  inside. 

The  plan  that  she  had  given  him  showed  an  old-fashioned 
cellarway,  closed  by  folding  trapdoors,  that  was  located  a 
little  toward  the  rear;  and,  in  a  moment,  creeping  along, 
he  came  upon  it.  His  hands  felt  over  it.  It  was  shut, 
fastened  by  a  padlock  on  the  outside.  Jimmie  Dale's  lips 
thinned  a  little,  as  he  took  a  small  steel  instrument  from 
his  pocket.  Either  through  inadvertence  or  by  intention, 
Connie  Myers  had  passed  up  an  almost  childishly  simple 
means  of  entrance  into  the  house !  One  side  of  the  trapdoor 
•was  lifted  up  silently — and  silently  closed.  Jimmie  Dale 
was  in  the  cellar.  The  hammering,  much  more  distinct  now, 
heavy,  thudding  blows,  came  from  a  room  in  the  front— 
the  connection  between  the  cellar  and  the  house,  as  shown 
on  the  Tocsin's  plan,  was  through  another  trapdoor  in  the 
floor  of  the  kitchen. 

Jimmie  Dale's  flashlight  played  on  a  short,  ladderlike 
stairway,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  climbing  upward.  The 
sounds  from  the  front  of  the  house  continued  now  without 
interruption ;  there  was  little  fear  that  Connie  Myers  would 


800    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

hear  anything  else — even  the  protesting  squeak  of  the  hingtv 
as  Jimmie  Dale  cautiously  pushed  back  the  trapdoor  in  tht 
flooring  above  his  head.  An  inch,  two  inches  he  lifted  it; 
and,  his  eyes  on  a  level  with  the  opening  now,  he  peered 
into  the  room.  The  kitchen  itself  was  intensely  dark ;  but 
through  an  open  doorway,  well  to  one  side  so  that  he  could 
not  see  into  the  room  beyond,  there  struggled  a  curiously 
faint,  dim  glimmer  of  light.  And  then  Jimmie  Dale's  form 
straightened  rigidly  on  the  stairs.  The  blows  stopped,  and 
a  voice,  in  a  low  growl,  presumably  Connie  Myers',  reached 
him. 

"  Here,  take  a  drive  at  it  from  the  lower  edge ! " 
There  was  no  answer — save  that  the  blows  were  resumed 
again.  Jimmie  Dale's  face  had  set  hard.  Connie  Myen 
was  not  alone  in  this,  then !  Well,  the  odds  were  a 
little  heavier,  doubled — that  was  all!  He  pushed  the  trap-, 
door  wide  open,  swung  himself  up  through  the  opening 
to  the  floor;  and  the  next  instant,  back  a  little  from  the. 
connecting  doorway,  his  body  pressed  closely  against  th& 
kitchen  wall,  he  was  staring,  bewildered  and  amazed,  into 
the  next  room. 

On  the  floor,  presumably  to  lessen  the  chance  of  any  light 
rays  stealing  through  the  tightly  drawn  window  shades, 
burned  a  small  oil  lamp.  The  place  was  in  utter  confusion. 
The  right-hand  side  of  a  large  fireplace,  made  of  rough, 
untrimmed  stone  and  cement,  and  which  occupied  almost 
the  entire  end  of  the  room,  was  already  practically  de 
molished,  and  the  wreckage  was  littered  everywhere;  part 
of  the  furniture  was  piled  unceremoniously  into  one  corner 
out  of  the  way;  and  at  the  fireplace  itself,  working  with 
sledge  and  bar,  were  two  men.  One  was  Connie  Myers.  An 
ironical  glint  crept  into  Jimmie  Dale's  eyes.  The  false  beard 
and  mustache  the  man  wore  would  deceive  no  one  who  knew 
Connie  Myers !  And  that  he  should  be  wearing  them  now, 
as  he  knelt  holding  the  bar  while  the  other  struck  at  it, 
seemed  both  uncalled  for  and  absurd.  The  other  tnan^ 
heavily  built,  roughly  dressed,  had  his  back  turned,  and  Jinv 
mie  Dale  could  not  see  his  face. 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  301 

The  puzzled  frown  on  Jimmie  Dale's  forehead  deepened 
Somewhere  in  the  masonry  of  the  fireplace,  of  course,  was 
where  old  Luther  Doyle  had  hidden  his  money.  That  was 
quite  plain  enough ;  and  that  Connie  Myers,  in  some  way 
or  other,  had  made  sure  of  that  fact  was  equally  obvious. 
But  how  did  old  Luther  Doyle  get  his  money  in  there  from 
time  to  time,  as  he  received  the  interest  and  dividends  whose 
accumulation,  according  to  the  Tocsin,  comprised  his  hoard ! 
And  how  did  he  get  it  out  again? 

"  All  right,  that'll  do !  "  grunted  Connie  Myers  suddenly. 
"  We  can  pry  this  one  out  now.  Lend  a  hand  on  the  bar !  " 

The  other  dropped  his  sledge,  turned  sideways  as  he 
stooped  to  help  Connie  Myers,  his  face  came  into  view — 
and,  with  an  involuntary  start,  Jimmie  Dale  crouched  farther 
back  against  the  wall,  as  he  stared  at  the  other.  It  was 
Hagan !  Mrs.  Hagan's  husband !  Mike  Hagan !  " 

"  My  God !  "  whispered  Jimmie  Dale,  under  his  breath. 

So  that  was  it!  That  the  murder  had  been  committed 
in  the  tenement  was  not  so  strange  now !  A  surge  of  anger 
swept  Jimmie  Dale — and  was  engulfed  m  a  wave  of  pity. 
Somehow,  the  thin,  tired  face  of  Mrs.  Hagan  had  risen  be 
fore  him,  and  she  seemed  to  be  pleading  with  him  to  go 
away,  to  leave  the  house,  to  forget  that  he  had  ever  been 
there,  to  forget  what  he  had  seen,  what  he  was  seeing  now. 
His  hands  clenched  fiercely.  How  realistically,  how  im 
portunately,  how  pitifully  she  took  form  before  him!  She 
was  on  her  knees,  clasping  his  knees,  imploring  him,  terrified. 

From  Jimmie  Dale's  pocket  came  the  black  silk  mask 
Slowly,  almost  hesitantly,  he  fitted  it  over  his  face — Mike 
Hagan  knew  Larry  the  Bat.  Why  should  he  have  pity  for 
Mike  Hagan?  Had  he  any  for  Connie  Myers?  What 
right  had  he  to  let  pity  sway  him !  The  man  had  gone  the 
limit ;  he  was  Connie  Myers'  accomplice — a  murderer  1  But 
the  man  was  not  a  hardened,  confirmed  criminal  like  Connie 
Myers.  Mike  Hagan — a  murderer !  It  would  have  been  un 
believable  but  for  the  evidence  before  his  own  eyes  now, 
The  man  had  faults,  brawled  enough,  and  drank  enough  tf 


£02     THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

have  brought  him  several  times  to  the  notice  of  the  polier 
—but  this ! 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  had  never  left  the  scene  before  him. 
Both  men  were  throwing  their  weight  upon  the  bar,  and 
the  stone  that  they  were  trying  to  dislodge — they  were  into 
the  heart  of  the  masonry  now — seemed  to  move  a  little. 
Connie  Myers  stood  up,  and,  leaning  forward,  examined 
the  stone  critically  at  top  and  bottom,  prodding  it  with  the 
bar.  He  turned  from  his  examination  abruptly,  and  thrust 
the  bar  into  Hagan's  hands. 

"  Hold  it !  "  he  said  tersely.    "  I'll  strike  for  a  turn." 

Crouched,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  Hagan  inserted  the 
point  of  the  bar  into  the  crevice.  Connie  Myers  picked  up 
the  sledge. 

"  Lower !  Bend  lower !  "  he  snapped — and  swung  the 
sledge. 

It  seemed  to  go  black  for  a  moment  before  Jimmie  Dale's 
eyes,  seemed  to  paralyse  all  action  of  mind  and  body.  There 
was  a  low  cry  that  was  more  a  moan,  the  clang  of  the  iron 
bar  clattering  on  the  floor,  and  Mike  Hagan  had  pitched  for 
ward  on  his  face,  an  inert  and  huddled  heap.  A  half  laugh, 
half  snarl  purled  from  Connie  Myers'  lips,  as  he  snatched  a 
stout  piece  of  cord  from  his  pocket  and  swiftly  knotted  the 
unconscious  man's  wrists  together.  Another  instant,  and, 
picking  up  the  bar,  prying  with  it  again,  the  loosened  stone 
toppled  with  a  crash  into  the  grate. 

It  had  come  sudden  as  the  crack  of  doom,  that  blow— 
too  quick,  too  unexpected  for  Jimmie  Dale  to  have  lifted  a 
finger  to  prevent  it.  And  now  that  the  first  numbed  shock 
of  mingled  horror  and  amazement  was  past,  he  fought  back 
the  quick,  fierce  impulse  to  spring  out  on  Connie  Myers. 
Whether  the  man  was  killed  or  only  stunned,  he  could  do  no 
good  to  Mike  Hagan  now,  and  there  was  Connie  Myers — he 
was  staring  in  a  fascinated  way  at  Connie  Myers.  Behind 
the  stone  that  the  other  had  just  dislodged  was  a  large 
hollow  space  that  had  been  left  in  the  masonry,  and  from 
this  now  Connie  Myers  was  eagerly  collecting  handfuls  of 
banknotes  that  were  rolled  up  into  the  shape  of  littl* 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  308 

cylinders,  each  one  grotesquely  tied  with  a  string.  The  man 
was  feverishly  excited,  muttering  to  himself,  running  from 
the  fireplace  to  where  the  table  had  been  pushed  aside  with 
the  rest  of  the  furniture,  dropping  the  curious  little  rolls 
of  money  on  the  table,  and  running  back  for  more.  And 
then,  having  apparently  emptied  the  receptacle,  he  wriggled 
his  body  over  the  dismantled  fireplace,  stuck  his  head  into 
the  opening,  and  peered  upward. 

"  Kinks  m  his  nut,  kinks  in  his  nut !  "  Connie  Myers  was 
muttering.  "  I'll  drop  the  bar  through  from  the  top,  mabbe 
there's  some  got  stuck  in  the  pipe." 

He  regained  his  feet,  picked  up  the  bar,  and  ran  with  it 
into  what  was  evidently  the  front  hall — then  his  steps 
sounded  running  upstairs. 

Like  a  flash,  Jimmie  Dale  was  across  the  room  and  at 
the  fireplace.  Like  Connie  Myers,  he,  too,  put  his  head  into 
the  opening ;  and  then,  a  queer,  unpleasant  smile  on  his  lips, 
he  bent  quickly  over  the  man  on  the  floor.  Hagan  was  no 
more  than  stunned,  and  was  even  then  beginning  to  show 
signs  of  returning  consciousess.  There  was  a  rattle,  a  clang, 
a  thud — and  the  bar,  too  long  to  come  all  the  way  through, 
dropped  into  the  opening  and  stood  upright.  Connie  Myers* 
footsteps  sounded  again,  returning  on  the  run — and  Jimmie 
Dale  was  back  once  more  on  the  other  side  of  the  kitchen 
doorway. 

It  was  all  simple  enough — once  one  understood !  The 
same  queer  smile  was  still  flickering  on  Jimmie  Dale's  lips. 
There  was  no  way  to  get  the  money  out,  except  the  way 
Connie  Myers  had  got  it  out — by  digging  it  out !  With  the 
irrational  cunning  of  his  mad  brain,  that  had  put  the  money 
even  beyond  his  own  reach,  old  Doyle  had  built  his  fireplace 
with  a  hollow  some  eighteen  inches  square  in  a  great  walJ  of 
solid  stonework,  and  from  it  had  run  a  two-inch  pipe  up 
somewhere  to  the  story  above ;  and  down  this  pipe  he  had 
dropped  his  little  string-tied  cylinders  of  banknotes,  satisfied 
that  his  hoard  was  safe !  There  seemed  something  pitfully 
ironic  in  the  elaborate,  insane  craftiness  of  the  old  man's 
fear-twisted,  demented  mind. 


804    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

And  now  Connie  Myers  was  back  in  the  room  again — 

and  again  a  puzzled  expressiDn  settled  upon  Jimmie  Dale's 

ace  as  he  watched  the  other.     For  perhaps  a  minute  the 

mi    stood  by  the  table  sifting  the  little  rolls  of  money 

through  his  fingers  gloatingly — then,  impulsively,  he  pushed 

hese  to  one  side,  produced  a  revolver,  laid  it  on  the  table, 

.nd  from  another  pocket  took  out  a  little  case  which,  as  he 

opened  it,  Jimmie  Dale  could  see  contained  a  hypodermic 

syringe.    One  more  article  followed  the  other  two — a  letter, 

which   Connie  Myers  took  out  of  an  unsealed  envelope. 

He  dropped  this  suddenly  on  the  table,  as  Mike  Hagan, 

three  feet  away  on  the  floor,  groaned  and  sat  up. 

Hagan's  eyes  swept,  bewildered,  confused,  around  him, 
questioningly  at  Connie  Myers — and  then,  resting  suddenly 
on  his  bound  wrists,  they  narrowed  menacingly. 

"  Damn  you,  you  smashed  me  with  that  sledge  on  pur" 
pose!"  he  burst  out — and  began  to  struggle  to  his  feet. 

With  a  brutal  chuckle,  Connie  Myers  pushed  Hagan  back, 
and  shoved  his  revolver  under  the  other's  nose. 

"  Sure !  "  he  admitted  evenly.  "  And  you  keep  quiet,  or 
I'll  finish  you  now — instead  of  letting  the  police  do  it ! " 
He  laughed  out  jarringly.  "  You're  under  arrest,  you  know, 
for  the  murder  of  Luther  Doyle,  and  for  robbing  the  poor 
old  nut  of  his  savings  in  his  house  here." 

Hagan  wrenched  himself  up  on  his  elbow. 

"  What — what  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  Oh,  don't  worry  !  "  said  Connie  Myers  maliciously.  "  I'm 
not  making  the  arrest,  I'd  rather  the  police  did  that.  I'm 
not  mixing  up  in  it,  and  by  and  by  " — he  lifted  up  the 
hypodermic  for  Hagan  to  see — "  I'm  going  to  shoot  a  little 
dope  into  you  that'll  keep  you  quiet  while  I  get  away  my* 
self." 

Hagan's  face  had  gone  a  grayish  white — he  had  caught 
sight  of  the  money  on  the  table,  and  his  eyes  kept  shifting 
back  and  forth  from  it  to  Myers'  face. 

"  Murder ! "  he  said  huskily.  "  There  is  no  murder.  I 
don't  know  who  Doyle  is.  You  said  this  house  was  yours— 
you  hired  me  to  come  here.  You  said  you  were  going  to 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  303 

tear  down  the  fireplace  and  build  another.  You  said  I  could 
work  evenings  and  earn  some  extra  money." 

"  Sure,  I  did !  "  There  was  a  vicious  leer  now  on  Connie 
Myers'  lips.  "  But  you  don't  think  I  picked  you  out  by 
accident,  do  you?  Your  reputation,  my  bucko,  was  just 
shady  enough  to  satisfy  anybody  that  it  wouldn't  be  beyond 
you  to  go  the  limit.  Sure,  you  murdered  Doyle  1  Listen  to 
this."  He  took  up  the  letter: 

"  To  THE  POLICE  :  Luther  Doyle  was  murdered  this  even 
ing  in  the  tenement  at  67 Street.  You'll  find  his  body 

in  a  room  on  the  second  floor.  If  you  want  to  know  who 
did  it,  look  in  Mike  Hagan's  room  on  the  floor  above. 
There's  a  paper  stuck  under  the  edge  of  Hagan's  table  with 
a  piece  of  chewing  gum,  where  he  hid  it.  You'll  know  what 
it  is  when  you  go  out  and  take  a  look  at  Doyle's  house  in 
Pelham.  Yours  truly,  A  FRIEND." 

Mike  Hagan  did  not  speak— his  lips  were  twitching,  and 
there  was  horror  creeping  into  his  eyes. 

"  D'ye  get  me !  "  sneered  Connie  Myers.  "  Tell  your  story 
• — who'd  believe  it !  I  got  you  cinched.  Twice  I  tried  to  get 
this  old  dub's  coin  out  here,  and  couldn't  find  it.  But  the 
second  time  I  found  something  else — a  piece  of  paper  with 
a  drawing  of  the  fireplace  o.  it,  and  a  pLce  in  the  drawing 
marked  with  an  X.  That  was  good  enough,  wasn't  it? 
That's  the  paper  I  stuck  under  your  table  this  afternoon 
when  your  wife  was  out — see?  Somebody's  got  to  stand 
for  the  job,  and  if  it's  somebody  else  it  won't  be  me — get 
me !  When  1  had  a  look  at  that  fireplace  I  knew  I  couldn't 
do  the  job  alone  in  a  week,  and  I  didn't  dare  blast  it  with 
'  soup '  for  fear  of  spoiling  what  was  inside.  And  since  I 
had  to  have  somebody  to  help  me,  1  thought  I  might  as  well 
let  him  help  me  all  the  way  through — and  stand  for  it.  I 
picked  you,  Mike — that's  why  I  croaked  olv^  Doyle  in  your 
tenement  to-night.  I  wrote  this  letter  while  1  was  waiting 
lor  you  to  show  up  at  the  station  to  ccme  out  here  with  me, 
ind  I'm  going  to  see  that  the  police  get  it  in  the  next  hour. 


306    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

When  they  find  Doyle  in  the  room  below  yours,  and  that 
paper  in  your  room,  and  the  busted  fireplace  here — I  guess 
they  won't  look  any  farther  for  who  did  it.  And  say  " — he 
leaned  forward  with  an  ugly  grin — "  mabbe  you  think  I'm 
soft  to  be  telling  you  all  this?  But  don't  you  fool  your 
self.  You  don't  know  me — you  don't  know  who  I  am.  So 
tell  'em  the  truth!  They  won't  believe  you  anyway  with 
evidence  like  that  against  you — and  the  neater  the  story  the 
more  they'll  think  it  shows  brains  enough  on  your  part  to 
have  pulled  a  job  like  this ! " 

"  My  God ! "  Hagan  was  rocking  on  his  knees,  beads  of 
sweat  were  starting  out  on  his  forehead.  "  You  wouldn't 
plant  a  man  like  that !  "  he  cried  brokenly.  "  You  wouldn't 
do  it,  would  you  ?  My  God — you  wouldn't  do  that !  " 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  under  his  mask  was  white  and  rigid. 
There  was  something  primal,  elemental  in  the  savagery  that 
was  sweeping  upon  him.  He  had  it  all  now — all!  She 
had  been  right — there  was  need  to-night  for  the  Gray  Seal 
So  that  was  the  game,  inhuman,  hellish,  the  whole  of  it,  to 
the  last  filthy  dregs — Connie  Myers,  to  protect  himself,  was 
railroading  an  innocent  man  to  death  for  the  crime  that  he 
himself  had  committed !  There  was  a  cold  smile  on  Jimmie 
Dale's  lips  now,  as  he  took  his  automatic  from  his  pocket. 
No,  it  wasn't  quite  all  the  game — there  was  still  his  hand  to 
play!  He  edged  forward  a  little  nearer  to  the  door — and 
halted  abruptly,  listening.  An  automobile  had  stopped  out 
side  on  the  road.  Hagan  was  still  pleading  in  a  frenzied 
way ;  Connie  Myers  was  callously  folding  his  letter,  while 
he  watched  the  other  warily — neither  of  the  men  had  heard 
the  sound. 

And  then,  quick,  almost  on  the  instant,  came  a  rush  of 
feet,  a  crash  upon  the  front  door — an  imperative  command 
to  open  in  the  name  of  the  law.  The  police!  Jimmie  Dale's 
brain  was  working  now  with  lightning  speed.  Somehow 
the  police  had  scumbled  upon  the  crime  in  that  tenement ; 
and,  as  he  had  foreseen  in  such  an  event,  had  identified 
Doyle.  But  they  could  not  be  sure  that  any  one  was  present 
here  in  the  house  now — they  could  not  see  a  light  any  more 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  307 

than  he  had.  He  must  get  Mike  Hagan  away — must  see  that 
Connie  Myers  did  not  get  away.  Myers  was  on  his  feet  now. 
fear  struck  in  his  turn,  the  letter  clutched  in  a  tight-closed 
fist,  his  revolver  swung  out,  poised,  in  the  other  hand- 
Hagan,  too,  was  on  his  feet,  and,  unheeded  now  by  Connie 
Myers,  was  wrenching  his  wrists  apart. 

Another  crash  upon  the  door — another.  Another  demand 
in  a  harsh  voice  to  open  it.  Then  some  one  running  around 
to  the  window  at  the  side  of  the  house — and  Jimmie  Dale 
sprang  forward. 

There  was  the  roar  of  a  report,  a  blinding  flash  almost  in, 
Jimmie  Dale's  eyes,  as  Connie  Myers,  whirling  instantly  at 
his  entrance,  fired — and  missed.  It  happened  quick  then, 
in  the  space  of  the  ticking  of  a  watch — before  Jimmie  Dale, 
flinging  himself  forward,  had  reached  the  man.  Like  a 
defiant  challenge  to  their  demand  it  must  have  seemed  to  the 
officers  outside,  that  shot  of  Connie  Myers  at  Jimmie  Dale, 
for  it  was  answered  on  the  instant  by  another  through  the 
side  window.  And  the  shot,  fired  at  random,  the  interior  of 
the  room  hidden  from  the  officers  outside  by  the  drawn 
shades,  found  its  mark — and  Connie  Myers,  a  bullet  in  his 
brain,  pitched  forward,  dead,  upon  the  floor. 

"  Quick! "  Jimmie  Dale  flung  at  Hagan.  "  Get  that  letter 
out  of  his  hand ! "  He  jumped  for  the  lamp  on  the  floor, 
extinguished  it,  and  turned  again  toward  Hagan.  "  Have 
you  got  it  ?  "  he  whispered  tensely. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hagan,  in  a  numbed  way. 

"  This  way,  then !  "  Jimmie  Dale  caught  Hagan's  arm,  and 
pulled  the  other  across  the  room  and  into  the  kitchen  to  the 
trapdoor.  "  Quick !  "  he  breathed  again.  "  Get  down  there 
• — quick !  And  no  noise !  They  don't  know  how  many  are 
in  the  house.  When  they  find  him  they'll  probably  be 
satisfied." 

Hagan,  stupefied,  dazed,  obeyed  mechanically — and,  in  an 
instant,  the  trapdoor  closed  behind  them,  Jimmie  Dale  was 
standing  beside  the  other  in  the  cellar. 

"  Not  a  sound  now !  "  he  cautioned  once  more. 

His  flashlight  winked,  went  out,  winked  again;  then  held 


808    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

steadily,  in  curious  fascination  it  seemed,  as,  in  its  circuit; 
the  ray  fell  upon  Hagan — fell  upon  the  torn,  ragged  edge  of 
a  paper  in  Hagan' s  hand!  With  a  suppressed  cry,  Jimmie 
Dale  snatched  it  away  from  the  other.  It  was  but  a  torn 
half  of  the  letter!  "The  other  half!  The  other  half, 
Hagan — where  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded  hoarsely. 

Hagan,  almost  in  a  state  of  collapse,  muttered  inaudibly. 
The  crash  of  a  toppling  door  sounded  from  above.  Jimmie 
Dale  shook  the  man  desperately. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated  fiercely. 

"  He — he  was  holding  it  tight,  it — it  tore  in  his  hand,"* 
Hagan  stammered.  "  Does  it  make  any  difference  ?  Oh, 
let's  get  out  of  here,  whoever  you  are — for  God's  sake  let's 
get  out  of  here ! " 

Any  difference!  Jimmie  Dale's  jaws  were  clamped  like 
a  steel  vise.  Any  difference!  The  difference  between  life 
and  death  for  the  man  beside  him — that  was  all!  He  was 
reading  the  portion  in  his  hand.  It  was  the  last  part  of  the 
letter,  beginning  with :  "  There's  a  paper  stuck  under  the 

edge  of  Haq-an's  table "  From  above,  from  the  floor  of 

the  front  room  now,  came  the  rush  and  trample  of  feet.  He 
could  not  go  back  for  the  other  half.  And  any  attempt  to 
conceal  the  fact  that  Connie  Myers  had  been  alone  in  the 
house  was  futile  now.  They  would  find  the  torn  letter 
in  the  dead  man's  hand,  proof  enough  that  some  one  else 
had  been  there.  What  was  in  that  part  of  the  letter  that  was 
still  clutched  in  that  death  grip  upstairs  ?  A  sentence  from  it, 
that  he  had  heard  Connie  Myers  read,  seemed  to  burn  itself 
into  his  brain.  "  If  you  want  to  know  who  did  it,  look  in 
Mike  Hagan's  room  on  the  floor  above."  And  then,  sud 
denly,  like  light  through  the  darkness,  came  a  ray  of  hope. 
He  pulled  Hagan  to  the  cellarway,  and  stealthily  lifted  one 
side  of  the  double  trapdoor.  There  was  a  chance,  desperate 
enough,  one  in  a  thousand — but  still  a  chance ! 

Voices  from  the  house  came  plainly  now,  but  there  was 
no  one  in  sight.  The  police,  to  a  man,  were  evidently  alii 
inside.  From  the  road  in  front  showed  the  lamp  glare  of 
Jheir  automobile. 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  309 

**  Run  for  the  car ! "  Jimmie  Dale  jerked  out  from  be 
tween  set  teeth — and  with  Hagan  beside  him,  steadying  the 
man  by  the  arm,  dashed  across  the  intervening  fifty  yards. 

They  had  not  been  seen.  A  minute  more,  and  the  car, 
evidently  belonging  to  the  local  police,  for  it  was  headed  in 
the  direction  of  New  York,  and  as  though  it  had  come  from 
Pelham,  swept  down  the  road,  swept  around  a  turn,  and 
Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  gasp  of  relief,  straightened  up  a  little 
from  the  wheel. 

How  much  time  had  he  ?  The  police  must  have  heard  the 
car ;  but,  equally,  occupied  as  they  were,  they  might  well  give 
it  no  thought  other  than  that  it  was  but  another  car  passing 
by.  There  was  no  telephone  in  the  house  ;'the  nearest  house 
was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and  that  might  or  might  not 
have  a  telephone.  Could  he  count  on  half  an  hour?  He 
glanced  anxiously  at  the  crouched  figure  beside  him.  He 
would  have  to!  It  was  the  only  chance.  They  would  tele 
phone  the  contents  of  the  dead  man's  half  of  the  letter  to  the 
New  York  police.  Could  he  get  to  Hagan's  room  first! 
*  Look  in  Hagan's  room,"  their  part  of  the  letter  read — but 
it  did  rot  say  for  what,  or  exactly  where!  If  they  found 
nothing,  Hagan  was  safe.  Connie  Myers'  reputation,  the  fact 
that  he  was  found  in  disguise  at  Doyle's  house,  was,  barring 
any  incriminating  evidence,  quite  enough  to  let  Hagan  out. 
There  would  only  remain  in  the  minds  of  the  police  the  ques 
tion  of  who,  beside  Connie  Myers,  had  been  in  old  Doyle's 
house  that  night?  And  now  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  a  little 
whimsically.  Well,  perhaps  he  could  answer  that — and,  if 
not  quite  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  police,  at  least  to  the  com 
plete  vindication  of  Mike  Hagan. 

But  he  could  not  drive  through  towns  and  villages  with  a 
mask  on  his  face;  and  there,  ahead  now,  lights  were  be 
ginning  to  show.  And  more  than  ever  now,  with  what  was 
before  him,  it  was  imperative  that  Mike  Hagan  should  not 
recognise  Larry  the  Bat.  Jimmie  Dale  glanced  again  at 
Hagan — and  slowed  down  the  car.  They  were  on  the  out 
skirts  of  a  town,  and  off  to  the  right  he  caught  the  twinkling 
lights  of  a  street  car 


810    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Hagan,"  he  said  sharply,  "  pull  yourself  together,  and 
listen  to  me!  If  you  keep  your  mouth  shut,  you've  nothing 
to  fear;  if  you  let  out  a  word  of  what's  happened  to-night, 
you'll  probably  go  to  the  chair  for  a  crime  you  know  noth 
ing  about.  Do  you  understand  ? — keep  your  mouth  shut !  ** 

The  car  had  stopped.    Hagan  nodded  his  head. 

"  All  right,  then.  You  get  out  here,  and  take  a  street  car 
into  New  York,"  continued  Jimmie  Dale  crisply.  "  But 
when  you  get  there,  keep  away  from  your  home  for  the  next 
two  or  three  hours.  Hang  around  with  some  of  the  boys 
you  know,  and  if  you're  asked  anything  afterward,  say  you 
were  batting  around  town  all  evening.  Don't  worry — you'll 
find  you're  out  of  this  when  you  read  the  morning  papers. 
Now  get  out — hurry ! "  He  pushed  Hagan  from  the  car. 
"  I've  got  to  make  my  own  get-away." 

Hagan,  standing  in  the  road,  brushed  his  hand  bewilder- 
ingly  across  his  eyes. 

"  Yes— but  you— I " 

"  Never  mind  about  that ! "  Jimmie  Dale  leaned  out,  and 
gripped  Hagan's  arm  impressively.  "  There's  only  one  thing 
you've  got  to  think  of,  or  remember.  Keep  your  mouth  shut  t 
No  matter  what  happens,  keep  your  mouth  shut — if  you 
want  to  save  your  neck !  Good-night,  Hagan !  " 

The  car  was  racing  forward  again.  It  shot  streaking 
through  the  streets  of  the  town  ahead,  and,  dully,  over  iti 
own  inferno,  echoed  shouts,  cries,  and  execrations  of  an  out 
raged  populace — then  out  into  the  night  again,  roaring  its 
way  toward  New  York. 

He  had  half  an  hour — perhaps!  It  was  a  good  thing 
Hagan  did  not  know,  or  had  not  grasped  the  significance  of 
that  torn  letter — the  man  would  have  been  unmanageable 
with  fear  and  excitement.  It  would  puzzle  Hagan  to  find 
no  paper  stuck  under  his  table  when  he  came  to  look  for  it! 
But  that  was  a  minor  consideration,  that  mattered  not  at  alt 

Half  an  hour!  On  roared  the  car — towns,  black  roads, 
villages,  wooded  lands  were  kaleidoscopic  in  their  passing. 
Half  an  hour!  Had  he  done  it?  Had  he  come  anywhere 
near  doing  it?  He  did  not  know.  He  was  in  the  city  at 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  311 

last — and  now  he  had  to  moderate  his  speed  ;  but,  by  keeping 
to  the  less  frequented  streets,  he  could  still  drive  at  a  fast 
pace.  One  piece  of  good  fortune  had  been  his — the  long 
motor  coat  he  had  found  in  the  car  with  which  to  cover  the 
rags  of  Larry  the  Bat,  and  without  which  he  would  have 
been  obliged  to  leave  the  car  somewhere  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  city,  and  to  trust,  like  Mike  Hagan,  to  other  and  slower 
means  of  transportation. 

Blocks  away  from  Hagan's  tenement,  he  ran  the  car  into 
a  lane,  slipped  off  the  motor  coat,  and  from  his  pocket 
whipped  out  the  little  metal  insignia  case — and  in  another 
moment  a  diamond-shaped  gray  seal  was  neatly  affixed  to 
the  black  ebony  rim  of  the  steering  wheel.  He  smiled 
fronically.  It  was  necessary,  quite  necessary  that  the  police 
should  have  no  doubt  as  to  who  had  been  in  Doyle's  house 
with  Connie  Myers  that  night,  or  to  whom  they  had  so 
considerately  loaned  their  automobile ! 

He  was  running  now — through  lanes,  dodging  down  side 
streets,  taking  every  short  cut  he  knew.  Had  he  beaten  the 
police  to  Mike  Hagan's  room?  It  would  be  easy  then.  If 
they  were  ahead  of  him,  then,  by  some  means  or  other, 
he  must  still  get  that  paper  first. 

He  was  at  the  tenement  now — shuffling  leisurely  up  the 
steps.  The  front  door  was  open.  He  entered,  and  went 
tip  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  then  along  the  hall,  and  up  the 
next  flight.  He  had  half  expected  the  place  to  be  bustling 
with  excitement  over  the  crime ;  but  the  police  evidently  had 
kept  the  affair  quiet,  for  he  had  seen  no  one  since  he  had 
entered.  But  now,  as  he  began  to  mount  the  third  flight,  he 
went  more  slowly — some  one  was  ahead  of  him.  It  was  very 
dark — he  could  not  see.  The  steps  above  died  away.  He 
reached  the  landing,  started  along  for  Hagan's  room — and 
a  light  blazed  suddenly  in  his  face,  and  a  hard,  quick  grip  on 
his  shoulder  forced  him  back  against  the  wall.  Then  the 
flashlight  wavered,  glistened  on  brass  buttons,,  went  out 
and  a  voice  laughed  roughly: 

*  It's  only  Larry  the  Bat  1" 


312    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Larry  the  Bat,  eh  ?  "  It  was  another  voice,  harsh  an<f 
curt.  "  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

He  was  not  first,  after  all !  The  telephone  message  from 
Pelham — it  was  almost  certainly  that — had  beaten  him! 
They  were  ahead  of  him,  just  ahead  of  him,  they  had  only 
been  a  few  steps  ahead  of  him  going  up  the  stairs,  just  a 
second  ahead  of  him  on  their  way  to  Hagan's  room !  Jimmic 
Dale  was  thinking  fast  now.  He  must  go,  too — to  Hagan's 
room  with  them — somehow — there  was  no  other  way — there 
was  Hagan's  life  at  stake. 

"  Aw,  I  ain't  done  nothin' !  "  he  whined.  "  I  was  just  goin' 
ter  borrow  the  price  of  a  feed  from  Mike  Hagan — lemme 
go!" 

"  HagarL  ^  1  "  snapped  the  questioner.  "  Are  you  a  friend 
of  his"' 

"  Sure.  1  am  (  x 

The  officers  whispered  tor  a  mocr^n*  together. 

"  We'll  try  it,"  decided  the  one  who  appeared  to  be  m 
command.  "  We're  in  the  dark,  anyhow,  and  the  t!;:nf  IVAV 
be  only  a  steer.  Mabbe  it'll  work — anyway,  it  won't  do  any 
harm."  His  hand  fell  heavily  on  Jimmie  Dale's  shoulder. 
"  Mrs.  Hassan  know  you?"  brusquely. 

"  Sure  she  does ! "  sniffled  Larry  the  Bat. 

"  Good !  "  rasped  the  officer.  "  Well,  we'll  make  the  visit 
with  you.  And  you  do  what  you're  told,  or  we'll  put  the 
screws  on  you — see?  We're  after  something  here,  and 
you've  blown  the  whole  game — savvy?  You've  spilled  the 
gravy — understand  ?  " 

In  the  darkness,  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  grimly.  It  was  far 
more  than  he  had  dared  to  hope  for — they  were  playing 
into  his  hands ! 

"  But  I  don't  know  'bout  any  game,"  grovelled  Larry  the 
Bat  piteously. 

"  Who  in  hell  said  you  did !  "  growled  the  officer.  "  You're 
supposed  to  have  snitched  the  lay  to  us,  that's  all — and  mind 
you  play  your  part !  Come  on  !  " 

It  was  two  doors  down  the  hall  to  Mike  Hagan's  room, 
and  there  one  of  the  officers,  putting  his  shoulder  to  the 


THE  STOOL-PIGEON  313 

aoor,  burst  it  open  and  sprang-  in.  The  other  shoved  Jimmie 
Dale  forward.  It  was  quickly  done.  The  three  were  in  the 
room.  The  door  was  closed  again. 

Came  a  cry  of  terror  out  of  the  darkness,  a  movement  as 
of  some  one  rising  up  hurriedly  in  bed;  and  then  Mrs, 
Hagan's  voice: 

"  What  is  it !    Who  is  it !    Mike !  " 

The  table — it  was  against  the  right-hand  wall,  Jimmie  Dale 
remembered.  He  sidled  quickly  toward  it. 

"  Strike  a  light ! "  ordered  the  officer  in  charge. 

Jimmie  Dale's  fingers  were  feeling  under  the  edge  of  the 
table — a  quick  sweep  along  it — nothing!  He  stooped,  reach 
ing  farther  in — another  sweep  of  his  arm — and  his  ringers 
closed  on  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  piece  of  hard  gum.  In  an 
instant  they  were  in  his  pocket. 

A  match  crackled  and  flared  up.  A  lamp  was  lighted. 
Larry  the  Bat  sulked  sullenly  against  the  wall. 

Terror-stricken,  wide-eyed,  Mrs.  Hagan  had  clutched  the 
child  lying  beside  her  to  her  arms,  and  was  sitting  bolt  up 
right  in  bed. 

"  Now  then,  no  fuss  about  it ! "  said  the  officer  in  charge, 
with  brutal  directness.  "  You  might  as  well  make  a  clean 
breast  of  Mike's  share  in  that  murder  downstairs — Larry  the 
Bat,  here,  has  already  told  us  the  whole  story.  Come  on, 
now — out  with  it !  " 

"Murder!" — her  face  went  white.  "My  Mike— 
murder!"  She  seemed  for  an  instant  stunned — and  then 
down  the  worn,  thin,  haggard  face  gushed  the  tears.  "  I 
don't  believe  it !  "  she  cried.  "  I  don't  believe  it !  " 

"  Come  on  now,  cut  that  out !  "  prodded  the  officer  roughly, 
*  I  tell  you  Larry  the  Bat,  here,  has  opened  everything  up 
wide.  You're  only  making  it  worse  for  yourself." 

"  Him !  "  She  was  staring  now  at  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Oh, 
God ! "  she  cried.  "  So  that's  what  you  are,  are  you — a 
stool-pigeon  for  the  cops?  Well,  whatever  ycu  told  them, 
you  lie!  You're,  the  curse  of  this  neighbourhood,  you  are, 
and  if  my  Mike  is  bad  at  all,  it's  you  that's  helped  to  make 
him  bad.  But  murder — you  lie  I " 


8U    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

She  had  risen  slowly  from  the  bed — a  gaunt,  pitiful  figure, 
pitifully  clothed,  the  black  hair,  gray-streaked,  streaming 
thinly  over  her  shoulders,  still  clutching  the  baby  that,  too> 
was  crying  now. 

The  officers  looked  at  one  another  and  nodded. 

"  Guess  she's  handing  it  straight — we'll  have  a  look  on  our 
own  hook,"  the  leader  muttered. 

She  paid  no  attention  to  them — she  was  walking  straight 
to  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  It's  you,  is  it,"  she  whispered  fiercely  through  her  sobs, 
"  that  would  bring  more  shame  and  ruin  here — you  that's 
selling  my  man's  life  away  with  your  filthy  lies  for  what 

they're  paying  you — it's  you,  is  it,  that "  Her  voice 

broke. 

There  was  a  frightened,  uneasy  look  in  I  -any  the  Bat's 
eyes,  his  lips  were  twitching  weakly,  he  drew  far  back 
against  the  wall — and  then,  glancing  miserably  at  the  officers, 
as  though  entreating  their  permission,  began  to  edge  toward 
the  door. 

For  a  moment  she  watched  him,  her  face  white  with  out 
rage,  her  hand  clenched  at  her  side — and  then  she  found  her 
voice  again. 

"  Get  out  of  here ! "  she  said,  in  a  choked,  strained  way 
pointing  to  the  door,  "  Get  out  of  here — you  dirty  skate !  * 

"  ^ure !"  mumbled  Larry  the  Bat,  his  eyes  on  the  floor, 
"*  Surel "  he  mumbled — and  the  door  closed  behind  him. 


PART  TWO:  THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  CASE 


CHAPTER  I 

BELOW  THE  DEAD  LINE 

TlfHISPERINGS !  Always  whisperings,  low,  sibilant, 
floating  errantly  from  all  sides,  until  they  seemed  a 
component  part  of  the  drug-laden  atmosphere  itself.  And 
occasionally  another  sound:  the  soft  slap-slap  of  loose- 
slippered  feet,  the  faint  rustle  of  equally  loose-fitting  gar 
ments.  And  everywhere  the  sweet,  sickish  smell  of  opium. 
It  was  Chang  Foo's,  simply  a  cellar  or  two  deeper  in  Chang 
Foo's  than  that  in  which  Dago  Jim  had  quarrelled  once— 
and  died ! 

Larry  the  Bat,  vicious-faced,  unkempt,  disreputable,  lay 
sprawled  out  on  one  of  the  dive's  bunks,  an  opium  pipe  be 
side  him.  But  Larry  the  Bat  was  not  smoking ;  instead,  his 
ear  was  pressed  closely  against  the  boarding  that  formed  the 
rather  flimsy  partition  at  the  side  of  the  bunk.  One  heard 
many  things  in  Chang  Foo's  if  one  cared  to  listen — if  one 
could  first  win  one's  way  through  the  carefully  guarded 
gateway,  that  to  the  uninitiated  offered  nothing  more  in 
teresting  than  the  entrance  to  a  Chinese  tea-shop,  and  an 
uninviting  one  at  that! 

Had  he  been  followed  in  here?  He  had  been  shadowed 
for  the  last  hour;  of  that,  at  least,  he  was  certain.  Why? 
By  whom  ?  For  an  hour  he  had  dodged  in  and  out  through 
the  dens  of  the  underworld,  as  only  one  who  was  at  home 
there  and  known  to  all  could  do — and  at  last  he  had  taken 
refuge  in  Chang  Foo's  like  a  fox  burrowing  deep  into  its 
hole. 

315 


316    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Few  could  find  their  way  into  the  most  infamous  opium 
den  in  all  New  York,  where  not  only  the  poppy  ruled  as 
master,  but  where  crime  was  hatched,  ay,  and  carried  to  its 
ghastly  consummation,  sometimes,  as  well ;  and  of  those  few, 
not  one  but  was  of  the  underworld  itself.  And  it  was  that 
fact  which  held  his  muscles  strained  and  rigid  now  under 
the  miserable  rags  that  covered  them,  and  it  was  that  which 
kept  the  keen,  quick  brain  alert  and  active,  every  faculty 
keyed  up  and  tense.  If  it  were  the  police,  he  had  little  to 
fear,  for  they  could  not  force  their  way  in  without  warning  r 
but  if  it  were  the  underworld,  he  was  in  imminent  peril,  and 
had  done  little  better  than  run  himself  into  a  trap  from  which 
there  was  no  escape. 

" Death  to  the  Gray  Seal!" — he  had  heard  that  whispered 
more  than  once  in  this  very  place.  Who  knew  at  what 
moment  the  role  of  Larry  the  Bat  would  be  uncovered,  and 
the  underworld,  where  now  he  held  so  high  a  place,  would 
be  at  his  throat  like  a  pack  of  snarling  wolves!  Who  had 
been  shadowing  him  during  the  last  hour? 

Whisperings!  Nothing  tangible!  He  could  catch  no 
words.  Only  the  never-ending  whisperings  of  gathered 
groups  here  and  there — and  sometimes  the  clink  of  coin 
where  some  game  was  in  progress. 

The  curtain  before  his  bunk  was  drawn  suddenly  aside — i 
and  Larry  the  Bat's  fingers,  where  his  hand  was  carelessly 
hidden  by  his  body,  tightened  upon  his  automatic. 

"  Smokee  some  more  ?  " 

The  fingers  relaxed.  It  was  only  Sam  Wah,  one  of  the 
attendants. 

"  Nix ! "  said  Larry  the  Bat,  in  a  slightly  muddled  tone. 
u  Got  enough." 

The  curtain  fell  into  place  again.  Larry  the  Bat's  lips  set 
in  a  thin  smile.  Ultimately  it  made  little  difference  whether 
it  was  the  police  or  the  underworld !  The  smile  grew  thinner. 
It  was  the  flip  of  a  coin,  that  was  all !  With  one  there  was 
the  death  house  at  Sing  Sing  for  the  Gray  Seal ;  with  the 
other — well,  there  were  many  ways,  from  a  shot  or  a  knife 
thrust  in  the  open  street,  to  his  murder  in  some  hidden  dive 


BELOW  THE  DEAD  LINE  817 

like  this  of  Chang  Foo's,  for  instance,  where  he  now  was 
— the  Gray  Seal  was  responsible  for  the  occupancy  of  too 
many  penitentiary  cells  by  those  of  the  underworld  to  look 
for  any  other  fate  ! 

He  raised  himself  up  sharply  on  his  elbow.  A  shrill,  high 
note,  like  the  scream  of  a  parrakeet,  rang  out  a  second  time, 
He  tore  the  curtain  aside,  and  jumped  to  his  feet.  All 
around  him,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Chinamen  in  flutter 
ing  blouses,  chattering  like  magpies,  mingled  with  snarling, 
cursing  whites,  were  running  madly.  A  voice,  prefaced  with 
an  oath,  bawled  out  behind  him,  as  he  sprang  forward  and 
joined  the  rush : 

"  Beat  it !    De  cops !    Beat  it !  " 

The  police!  A  raid!  Was  it  for  him?  From  rooms,  an 
amazing  number  of  them,  more  forms  rushed  out,  joined; 
divided,  separated,  and  dashed,  some  this  way,  some  that, 
along  branching  passageways.  There  had  been  raids  before, 
the  police  had  begun  to  change  their  minds  about  Chang 
Foo's,  but  Chang  Foo's  was  not  an  easy  place  to  raid.  House 
after  house  in  that  quarter  of  Chinese  laundries,  of  tea 
shops,  of  chop-suey  joints,  opened  one  into  the  other  through 
secret  passages  in  the  cellars.  Larry  the  Bat  plunged  down 
a  staircase,  and  halted  in  the  darkness  of  a  cellar,  drawing 
back  against  the  wall  while  the  flying  feet  of  his  fellow 
fugitives  scurried  by  him. 

Was  it  for  him,  this  raid?  If  not,  the  police  had  not  a 
hope  of  getting  him  if  he  kept  hie  head ;  for  back  in  Chang 
Foo's  proper,  which  would  be  quite  closed  off  now,  Chang 
Foo  would  be  blandly  submitting  to  arrest,  offering  himself 
as  a  sort  of  glorified  sacrifice  while  the  police  confiscated 
opium  and  fan-tan  layouts.  If  the  police  had  no  other  pur 
pose  than  that  in  mind,  Chang  Foo  would  simply  pay  a  fine ; 
the  next  night  the  place  would  be  in  full  blast  again ;  and 
Chang  Foo,  higher  than  ever  in  the  confidence  of  the  under 
world's  aristocracy,  would  reap  his  reward — and  that  would 
be  all  there  was  to  it. 

But  was  that  all?  The  raid  had  followed  significantly 
close  upon  the  heels  of  his  entry  into  Chang  Foo's.  Larry 


318    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  Bat  began  to  move  forward  again.  He  dared  not  follow 
the  others,  and,  later  on,  when  quiet  was  restored,  issue  out 
into  the  street  from  any  one  of  the  various  houses  in  which 
he  might  temporarily  have  taken  refuge.  There  was  a 
chance  in  that,  a  chance  that  the  police  might  be  more 
zealous  than  usual,  even  if  he  particularly  was  not  their 
game — and  he  could  take  no  chance.  Arrest  for  Larry  the 
Bat,  even  on  suspicion,  could  have  but  one  conclusion — not 
a  pleasant  one — the  disclosure  that  Larry  the  Bat  was  not 
Larry  the  Bat  at  all,  but  Jimmie  Dale,  the  millionaire  club 
man,  and,  to  complete  a  fatal  triplication,  that  Larry  the 
Bat  and  Jimmie  Dale  was  the  Gray  Seal  upon  whose  head 
was  fixed  a  price! 

All  was  silence  around  him  now,  except  that  from  over 
head  came  occasionally  the  muffled  tread  of  feet.  He  felt 
his  way  along  into  a  black,  narrow  passage,  emerged  into  a 
second  cellar,  swept  the  place  with  a  single,  circling  gleam 
from  a  pocket  flashlight,  passed  a  stairway  that  led  upward, 
reached  the  opposite  wall,  and,  dropping  on  hands  and  knees, 
crawled  into  what,  innocently  enough,  appeared  to  be  the 
opening  of  a  coal  bin. 

He  knew  Chang  Foo's  well — as  he  knew  the  ins  and  outs 
of  every  den  and  place  he  frequented,  knew  them  as  a  man 
knows  such  things  when  his  life  at  any  moment  might  hang 
upon  his  knowledge. 

He  was  in  another  passage  now,  and  this,  in  a  few  steps, 
brought  him  to  a  door.  Here  he  halted,  and  stood  for  a 
full  five  minutes,  absolutely  motionless,  absolutely  still, 
listening.  There  was  nothing — not  a  sound.  He  tried  the 
door  cautiously.  It  was  locked.  The  slim,  sensitive,  taper 
ing  fingers  of  Jimmie  Dale,  unrecognisable  now  in  the  grimy 
digits  of  Larry  the  Bat,  felt  tentatively  over  the  lock.  To 
fingers  that  seemed  in  their  tips  to  possess  all  the  human 
senses,  that  time  and  again  in  their  delicate  touch  upon  the 
dial  of  a  safe  had  mocked  at  human  ingenuity  and  driven 
the  police  into  impotent  frenzy,  this  was  a  pitiful  thing. 
From  his  pocket  came  a  small  steel  instrument  that  was 
quickly  and  deftly  inserted  in  the  keyhole.  There  was  % 


BELOW  THE  DEAD  LINE  319 

click,  the  door  swung  open,  and  Jimmie  Dale,  alias  Larry 
the  Bat,  stepped  outside  into  a  back  yard  half  a  block  away 
from  the  entrance  to  Chang  Foo's. 

Again  he  listened.  There  did  not  appear  to  be  any  un«- 
usual  excitement  in  the  neighbourhood.  From  open  win-* 
dows  above  him  and  from  adjoining  houses  came  the 
ordinary,  commonplace  sounds  of  voices  talking  and  laugh 
ing,  even  the  queer,  weird  notes  of  a  Chinese  chant.  Hs 
stole  noiselessly  across  the  yard,  out  into  the  lane,  and  made 
his  way  rapidly  along  to  the  cross  street. 

In  a  measure,  now,  he  was  safe;  but  one  thing,  a  very 
vital  thing,  remained  to  be  done  It  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  he  should  know  whether  he  was  the  quarry  that  ths 
police  had  been  after  in  the  raid,  if  it  was  the  police  who  had 
been  shadowing  him  all  evening.  If  it  was  the  police,  there 
was  but  one  meaning  to  it — Larry  the  Bat  was  known  to 
be  the  Gray  Seal,  and  a  problem  perilous  enough  in  any  aspect 
confronted  him.  Dare  he  risk  the  Sanctuary — for  the 
clothes  of  Jimmie  Dale?  Or  was  it  safer  to  burglarise,  as 
he  had  once  done  before,  his  own  mansion  on  Riverside 
Drive  ? 

His  thoughts  were  running  riot,  and  he  frowned,  angry 
with  himself.  There  was  time  enough  to  think  of  that 
when  he  knew  that  it  was  the  police  against  whom  he  had 
to  match  his  wits. 

Well  in  the  shadow  of  the  buildings,  he  moved  swiftly 
along  the  side  street  until  he  came  to  the  corner  of  the 
street  on  which,  halfway  down  the  block,  fronted  Chang 
Foo's  tea-shop.  A  glance  in  that  direction,  and  Jimmie 
Dale  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  A  patrol  wagon  was  backed 
up  to  the  curb,  and  a  half  dozen  officers  were  busy  loading 
it  with  what  was  evidently  Chang  Foo's  far  from  meagre 
stock  of  gambling  appurtenances ;  while  Chang  Foo  him 
self,  together  with  Sam  Wah  and  another  attendant,  were  ii? 
the  grip  of  two  other  officers,  waiting  possibly  for  another 
patrol  wagon.  There  was  a  crowd,  too,  but  the  crowd  was 
at  a  respectful  distance — on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street. 

Jimmie  Dale  still  hugged  the  corner.    A  man  swaggered 


820    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

out  from  a  doorway,  quite  close  to  Chang  Foo's,  and  came 
on  along  the  street.  As  the  other  reached  the  corner, 
Jimmie  Dale  sidled  forward. 

"  'Ello,  Chick ! "  he  said,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 
"Wot'sde  lay?" 

"  'Ello,  Larry !  "  returned  the  other.  "  Aw,  nuthin' !  De 
nutcracker  on  Chang,  dat's  all." 

"  I  t'ought  mabbe  dey  was  lookin*  for  some  guy  dat  was 
in  dere,"  observed  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Nuthin'  doin' ! "  the  other  answered.  "  I  was  in  dere 
meself.  De  whole  mob  beat  it  clean,  an'  de  bulls  never 
batted  an  eye.  Didn't  youse  pipe  me  make  me  get-away 
outer  Shanghai's  a  minute  ago?  De  bulls  never  went 
nowhere  except  into  Chang's.  Dere's  a  new  lootenant  in  de 
precinct  inaugeratin'  himself,  dat's  all.  S'long,  Larry — I 
gotta  date." 

"  S'long,  Chick !  "  responded  Jimmie  Dale — and  started 
slowly  back  along  the  cross  street. 

It  was  not  the  police,  then,  who  were  interested  in  his 
movements!  Then  who?  He  shook  his  head  with  a  little, 
savage,  impotent  gesture.  One  thing  was  clear:  it  was  too 
early  to  risk  a  return  to  the  Sanctuary  and  attempt  the 
rehabilitation  of  Jimmie  Dale.  If  any  one  was  on  the  hunt 
for  Larry  the  Bat,  the  Sanctuary  would  be  the  last  place  to 
be  overlooked. 

He  turned  the  next  corner,  hesitated  a  moment  in  front  of 
a  garishly  lighted  dance  hall,  and  finally  shuffled  in  through 
the  door,  made  his  way  across  the  floor,  nodding  here  and 
there  to  the  elite  of  gangland,  and,  with  a  somewhat  arrogant 
air  of  proprietorship,  sat  down  at  a  table  in  the  corner. 
Little  better  than  a  tramp  in  appearance,  certainly  the  most 
disreputable-looking  object  in  the  place,  even  the  waiter  who 
approached  him  accorded  him  a  certain  curious  deference — • 
was  not  Larry  the  Bat  the  most  celebrated  dope  fiend  be 
low  the  dead  line? 

"  Gimme  a  mug  o'  suds ! "  ordered  Jimmie  Dale,  and 
spra wled  royally  back  in  his  chair. 

Under  the  rim  of  his  sloacb.  h*k  Billed  now  far  over  his 


BELOW  THE  DEAD  LINE  321 

eyes,  he  searched  the  faces  around  him.  If  he  had  been 
asked  io  pick  the  actors  for  a  revel  from  the  scum  of  the 
underworld,  he  could  not  have  improved  upon  the  gather 
ing.  There  were  perhaps  a  hundred  men  and  women  in  the 
room,  the  majority  dancing,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  sight-seeing  slummers,  they  were  men  and  women  whose 
acquaintance  with  the  police  was  intimate  but  not  cordial — • 
far  from  cordial. 

Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  sipped  at  the 
glass  that  had  been  set  before  him.  It  was  grimly  ii  ^nic  that 
he  should  be,  not  only  there,  but  actually  a  factor  and  a  part 
of  the  underworld's  intimate  life!  He,  Jimmie  Dale,  a 
wealthy  man,  a  member  of  New  York's  exclusive  clubs,  a 
member  of  New  York's  most  exclusive  society!  It  was 
inconceivable.  He  smiled  sardonically.  Was  it?  Well, 
then,  it  was  none  the  less  true.  His  life  unquestionably  was 
one  unique,  apart  from  any  other  man's,  but  it  was,  for  all 
that,  actual  and  real. 

There  had  been  three  years  of  it  now — since  she  had 
come  into  his  life.  Jimmie  Dale  slouched  down  a  little  in 
his  chair.  The  ice  was  thin,  perilously  thin,  that  he  was 
skating  on  now.  Each  letter,  with  its  demand  upon  him  to 
match  his  wits  .'.gainst  police  or  underworld,  or  against  both 
combined,  perhaps,  made  that  peril  a  little  greater,  a  little 
more  imminent — if  that  were  possible,  when  already  his 
life  was  almost  literally  carried,  daily,  hourly,  in  his  hand. 
Not  that  he  rebelled  against  it ;  it  was  worth  the  price  that 
some  day  he  expected  he  must  pay — the  price  of  honour, 
wealth,  a  name  disgraced,  ruin,  death.  Was  he  quixotic? 
Immoderately  so?  He  smiled  gravely.  Perhaps.  But  he 
would  do  it  all  over  again  if  the  choice  were  his.  There 
were  those  who  blessed  the  name  of  the  Gray  Seal,  as  well 
as  those  who  cursed  it.  And  there  was  the  Tocsin ! 

Who  was  she?  He  did  not  know,  but  he  knew  that  he 
had  come  to  love  her,  come  to  care  for  her,  and  that  she  had 
come  to  mean  everything  in  life  to  him.  He  had  never  seen 
her,  to  know  her  face.  He  had  never  seen  her  face,  but  he 
knew  her  voice — ay,  he  had  even  held  her  for  a  moment 


822    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the  moment  of  wildest  happiness  he  had  ever  known,  in  his 
arms.  That  night  when  he  had  entered  his  library,  his  own 
particular  den  in  his  own  house,  and  in  the  darkness  had 
found  her  there — found  her  finally  through  no  effort  of  his 
own,  when  he  had  searched  so  fruitlessly  for  years  to  find 
her,  using  every  resource  at  his  command  to  find  her !  And 
she,  because  she  had  come  of  her  own  volition,  relying  upon 
him,  had  held  him  in  honour  to  let  her  go  as  she  had  come — 
without  looking  upon  her  face!  Exquisite  irony!  But  she 
had  made  him  a  promise  then — that  the  work  of  the  Gray 
Seal  was  nearly  over — that  soon  there  would  be  an  end  to 
the  mystery  that  surrounded  her — that  he  should  know  all 
»— that  he  should  know  her. 

He  smiled  again,  but  it  was  a  twisted  smile  on  the  me 
chanically  misshapen  lips  of  Larry  the  Bat.  Nearly  over! 
Who  knew  ?  That  "  nearly  "  might  be  too  late !  Even  to 
night  he  had  been  shadowed,  was  skulking  even  now  in 
this  place  as  a  refuge.  Who  knew?  Another  hour,  and 
the  newsboys  might  be  shrieking  their  "  Uxtra !  Uxtra ! 
De  Gray  Seal  caught !  De  millionaire  Jimmie  Dale  de  Jekyli 
an'  Hyde  of  real  life ! " 

Jimmie  Dale  straightened  up  suddenly  in  his  seat.  There 
was  a  shout,  an  oath  bawled  out  high  above  the  riot  of 
noise,  a  chorus  of  feminine  shrieks  from  across  the  room. 
What  was  the  matter  with  the  underworld  to-night?  He 
seemed  fated  to  find  nothing  but  centres  of  disturbance — - 
first  a  raid  at  Chang  Foo's,  and  now  this.  What  was  the 
matter  here?  They  were  stampeding  toward  him  from  the 
other  side  of  the  room.  Tviere  was  the  roar  of  a  revolver 
shot — another.  Black  Ike !  He  caught  an  instant's  glimpse 
of  the  gunman's  distorted  face  through  the  crowd.  That 
was  it  probably — a  row  over  some  moll. 

And  then,  as  Jimmie  Dale  lunged  up  from  his  chair  to  his 
feet  to  escape  the  rush,  pandemonium  itself  seemed  to  break 
loose.  Yells,  shots,  screams,  and  oaths  filled  the  air.  The 
crowd  surged  this  way  and  that.  Tables  were  overturned 
and  sent  crashing  to  the  floor.  And  then  came  sudden  dark- 


BELOW  THE  DEAD  LINE  323 

Bess,  as  some  one  of  the  attendants  in  misguided  excitability 
switched  off  the  lights. 

The  darkness  but  served  to  increase  the  panic,  not  allay 
it.  With  a  savage  snap  of  his  jaws,  Jimmie  Dale  swung 
from  his  table  in  the  corner  with  the  intention  of  making 
his  way  out  by  a  side  door  behind  him — it  was  a  case  of 
the  police  again,  and  the  patrolman  outside  would  probably 

be  pulling  a  riot  call  by  now.  And  the  police He 

stopped  suddenly,  as  though  he  had  been  struck.  An  en 
velope,  thrust  there  out  of  the  darkness,  was  in  his  hand; 
and  her  voice,  hers,  the  Tocsin's,  was  sounding  in  his  ears : 

"  Jimmie !  Jimmie  !  I've  been  trying  all  evening  to  catch 
you !  Quick !  Get  to  the  Sanctuary  and  change  your  clothes. 
There's  not  an  instant  to  lose !  It's  for  my  sake  to-night !  * 

And  then  a  surging  mob  was  around  him  on  every  side, 
and,  pushing,  jostling,  half  lifting  him  at  times  from  his 
feet,  carried  him  forward  with  its  rush,  and  with  him  if) 
its  midst  burst  through  the  door  and  out  into  the  street 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   CALL   TO    ARMS 

JVT OT  a  sound  as  the  key  turned  in  the  lock ;  not  a  sound 
as  the  door  swung  back  on  its  carefully  oiled  hinges ; 
not  a  sound  as  Larry  the  Bat  slipped  like  a  shadow  into  the 
blackness  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  him  again. 
With  a  tread  as  noiseless  as  a  cat's,  he  was  across  the  room 
to  satisfy  himself  that  the  shutters  were  tightly  closed ;  and 
then  the  single  gas  jet  flared  up,  murky,  yellow,  illumina 
ting  the  miserable,  squalid  room — the  Sanctuary — the  home 
of  Larry  the  Bat.  There  was  need  for  silence,  need  for  cau 
tion.  In  five  minutes,  ten  at  the  outside,  he  must  emerge 
again — as  Jimmie  Dale. 

With  a  smile  on  his  lips  that  mingled  curiously  chagrin 
and  self-commiseration,  he  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  tore  it  open.  It  was  she,  then,  who  had  been  following1 
him  all  evening,  and,  like  a  blundering  idiot,  he  had  wasted 
precious,  perhaps  irreparable,  hours!  What  had  she  meant 
by  "  It's  for  my  sake  to-night "  ?  The  words  had  been  ring 
ing  in  his  ears  since  the  moment  she  had  whispered  them  in 
that  panic-stricken  crowd.  Was  it  not  always  for  her  sake 
that  he  answered  these  calls  to  arms?  Was  it  not  always 

for  her  sake  that  he,  as  the  Gray  Seal,  was The  mental 

soliloquy  came  to  an  abrupt  end.  He  had  subconsciously 
read  the  first  sentence  of  the  letter,  and  now,  with  sudden 
feverish  eagerness  and  excitement,  he  was  reading  it  to 
the  last  word. 

"  DEAR  PHILANTHROPIC  CROOX  :  In  an  hour  after  you  re- 
ceive  this,  if  all  goes  well,  you  shall  know  everything-* 
everything.  Who  I  am — yes,  and  my  name.  It  has 

324 


THE  CALL  TO  ARMS  32* 

more  than  three  years  now,  hasn't  it?  It  has  been  in 
comprehensible  to  you,  but  there  has  been  no  other  way.  I 
dared  not  take  the  chance  of  discovery  by  any  one ;  I  dared 
not  expose  you  to  the  risk  of  being  known  by  me.  Your  life 
would  not  have  been  worth  a  moment's  purchase.  Oh,  Jim- 
mie,  am  I  only  making  the  mystery  more  mystifying?  But 
to-night,  I  think,  I  hope,  I  pray  that  it  is  all  at  an  end: 
though  against  me,  and  against  you  to-night  when  you  go  to 
help  me,  is  the  most  powerful  and  pitiless  organisation  of 
criminals  that  the  world  has  ever  known ;  and  the  stake  we 
are  playing  for  is  a  fortune  of  millions — and  my  life.  And 
yet  somehow  I  am  afraid  now,  just  because  the  end  is  so 
near,  and  the  victory  seems  so  surely  won.  And  so,  Jimmie, 
be  careful;  use  all  that  wonderful  cleverness  of  yours  as 

you  have  never  used  it  before,  and But  there  should  be 

no  need  for  that,  it  is  so  simple  a  thing  that  I  am  going  to 
ask  you  to  do.  Why  am  I  writing  so  illogically !  Nothing, 
surely,  can  possibly  happen.  This  is  not  like  one  of  my 
usual  letters,  is  it?  I  am  beside  myself  to-night  with  hope> 
anxiety,  fear,  and  excitement. 

"  Listen,  then,  Jimmie :  Be  at  the  northeast  corner  of 
Sixth  Avenue  and  Waverly  Place  at  exactly  half-past  ten. 
A  taxicab  will  drive  up,  as  though  you  had  signalled  it  in 
passing,  and  the  chauffeur  will  say :  "  I've  another  fare  ir» 
half  an  hour,  sir,  but  I  can  get  you  most  anywhere  in  that 
time."  You  will  be  smoking  a  cigarette.  Toss  it  out  into 
the  street,  make  any  reply  you  like,  and  get  into  the  cab. 
Give  the  chauffeur  that  little  ring  of  mine  with  the  crest  of 
the  bell  and  belfry  and  the  motto,  "  Sonnez  le  Tocsin,"  that 
you  found  the  night  old  Isaac  Pelina  was  murdered,  and  the 
chauffeur  will  give  you  in  exchange  a  sealed  packet  of 
papers.  He  will  drive  you  to  your  home,  and  I  will  tele 
phone  to  you  there. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  to  destroy  this.    Keep  the  appointment 
in  your  proper  person — as  Jimmie  Dale.     Carry  nothing 
that  might  identify  you  as  the  Gray  Seal  if  any  accident 
should  happen.    And,  lastly,  trust  the  pseudo  chauffeur  at 
solutely." 


826    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

There  was  no  signature.  Her  letters  were  never  signed- 
He  stood  for  a  moment  staring  at  the  closely  written  sheets 
in  his  hand,  a  heightened  colour  in  his  cheeks,  his  lips  pressed 
tightly  together — and  then  his  ringers  automatically  began  to 
tear  the  letter  into  pieces,  and  the  pieces  again  into  little 
shreds.  To-night !  It  was  to  be  to-night,  the  end  of  all  this 
mystery.  To-night  was  to  see  the  end  of  this  dual  life  of 
his,  with  its  constant  peril !  To-night  the  Gray  Seal  was  to 
exit  from  the  stage  forever!  To-night,  a  wonderful  climax 
of  the  years,  he  was  to  see  her! 

His  blood  was  quickened  now,  his  heart  pounding  in  a 
i'aster  beat ;  a  mad  elation,  a  fierce  uplift  was  upon  him.  He 
thrust  the  torn  bits  of  paper  into  his  pocket  hurriedly, 
stepped  across  the  room  to  the  corner,  rolled  back  the  oil 
cloth,  and  lifted  up  the  loose  plank  in  the  flooring,  so  in 
nocently  dustladen,  as,  more  than  once,  to  have  eluded  the 
eyes  of  inquisite  visitors  in  the  shape  of  police  and  plain- 
clothes  men  from  headquarters. 

From  the  space  beneath  he  removed  a  neatly  folded  pile 
of  clothes,  laid  these  on  the  bed,  and  began  to  undress.  He 
was  working  rapidly  now.  Tiny  pieces  of  wax  were  re 
moved  from  his  nostrils,  from  under  his  lips,  from  behind 
his  ears ;  water  from  a  cracked  pitcher  poured  into  a  battered 
tin  basin,  and  mixed  with  a  few  drops  of  some  liquid  from  a 
bottle  which  he  procured  from  its  hiding  place  under  the 
flooring,  banished  the  make-up  stain  from  his  face,  his  neck, 
his  wrists,  and  hands  as  if  by  magic.  It  was  a  strange  met- 
amoiphosis  that  had  taken  place — the  coarse,  brutal-fea 
tured,  blear-eyed,  leering  countenance  of  Larry  the  Bat  was 
gone,  and  in  its  place,  clean-cut,  square-jawed,  clear-eyed, 
was  the  face  of  Jimmie  Dale.  And  where  before  had 
slouched  a  slope-shouldered,  misshapen,  flabby  creature,  a 
broad-shouldered  form  well  over  six  feet  in  height  now 
stood  erect,  and  under  the  clean  white  skin  the  muscles  of 
an  atfllete,  like  knobs  of  steel,  played  back  and  forth  with 
movement  of  his  body. 
he  streaked  and  broken  mirror  Jimmie  Dale  surveyed 


THE  CALL  TO  ARMS 

himself  critically,  methodically,  and,  with  a  nod  of  satisfac 
tion,  hastily  donned  the  fashionably  cut  suit  of  tweeds  upon 
the  bed.  He  rummaged  then  through  the  ragged  garments 
he  had  just  discarded,  transferred  to  his  pockets  a  roll  of 
bills  and  his  automatic,  and  paused  hesitantly,  staring  at  the 
thin  metal  case,  like  a  cigarette  case,  that  he  held  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  a  little  whimsically ; 
it  seemed  strange  indeed  that  he  was  through  with  that !  He 
snapped  it  open.  Within,  between  sheets  of  oil  paper,  lay 
the  scores  of  little  diamond-shaped,  gray-coloured,  adhesive 
paper  seals — the  insignia  of  the  Gray  Seal.  Yes,  it  seemed 
strange  that  he  was  never  to  use  another!  He  closed  the 
case,  gathered  up  the  clothes  of  Larry  the  Bat,  tucked  the 
case  in  among  them,  and  shoved  the  bundle  into  the  hole 
under  the  flooring.  All  these  things  would  have  to  be  de 
stroyed,  but  there  was  not  time  to-night ;  to-morrow,  or  the 
next  day,  would  do  for  that.  What  would  it  be  like  to  live 
a  normal  life  again,  without  the  menace  of  danger  lurking 
on  every  hand,  without  that  grim  slogan  of  the  underworld, 
"  Death  to  the  Gray  Seal !  "  or  that  savage  fiat  of  the  police, 
91  The  Gray  Seal,  dead  or  alive — but  the  Gray  Seal !  "  for 
ever  ringing  in  his  ears?  What  would  it  be  like,  this  new 
life — with  her? 

The  thought  was  thrilling  him  again,  bringing  again  that 
eager,  exultant  uplift.  In  an  hour,  one  hour,  and  the  bar 
riers  of  years  would  be  swept  away,  and  she  would  be  in  his 
arms! 

"  It's  for  my  sake  to-night ! "  His  face  grew  suddenly 
tense,  as  the  words  came  back  to  him.  That  "  hour  "  wasn't 
over  yet!  It  was  no  hysterical  exaggeration  that  had 
prompted  her  to  call  her  enemies  the  most  powerful  and  piti 
less  organisation  of  criminals  that  the  world  had  ever  known. 
It  was  not  the  Tocsin's  way  to  exaggerate.  The  words  would 
be  literally  true.  The  very  life  she  had  led  for  the  three 
years  that  had  gone  stood  out  now  as  a  grim  proof  of  her 
assertion. 

Jimmie  Dale  replaced  the  flooring,  carefully  brushed  the 
<*ust  back  into  the  cracks,  spread  the  oilcloth  into  place 


328    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

and  stood  up*  Who  and  what  was  this  organisation  ?  Wha% 
was  between  it  and  the  Tocsin?  What  was  this  immense 
fortune  that  was  at  stake?  And  what  was  this  priceless 
packet  that  was  so  crucial,  that  meant  victory  now,  ay,  and 
her  life,  too,  she  had  said? 

The  questions  swept  upon  him  in  a  sort  of  breathless 
succession.  Why  had  she  not  let  him  play  a  part  in  this? 
True,  she  had  told  him  why — that  she  dared  not  expo,  e  him 
to  the  risk.  Risk !  Was  there  any  risk  that  the  Gray  Seal 
had  not  taken,  and  at  her  instance!  He  did  not  under 
stand.  He  smiled  a  little  uncertainly,  as  he  reached  up  to 
turn  out  the  gas.  There  were  a  good  many  things  that  he  did 
not  understand  about  the  Tocsin! 

The  room  was  in  darkness,  and  with  the  darkness  Jimmie 
Dale's  mind  centred  on  the  work  immediately  before  him. 
To  enter  the  tenement  where  he  was  known  and  had  an  ac 
knowledged  right  as  Larry  the  Bat  was  one  thing ;  for  Jimmie 
Dale  to  be  discovered  there  was  quite  another. 

He  crossed  the  room,  opened  the  door  silently,  stood  for 
a  moment  listening,  then  stepped  out  into  the  black,  musty, 
ill-smelling  hallway,  closing  the  door  behind  him.  He 
stooped  and  locked  it.  The  querulous  cry  of  a  child  reached 
him  from  somewhere  above — a  murmur  of  voices,  muffled 
by  closed  doors,  from  everywhere.  How  many  families 
were  housed  beneath  that  sordid  roof  he  had  never  known, 
only  that  there  was  miserable  poverty  there  as  well  as  vice 
and  crime,  only  that  Larry  the  Bat,  who  possessed  a  room 
all  to  himself,  was  as  some  lordly  and  super-being  to  these 
fellow  tenants  who  shared  theirs  with  so  many  that  there 
was  not  air  enough  for  all  to  breathe. 

He  had  no  doors  to  pass — his  was  next  to  the  staircase. 
He  began  to  descend.  They  could  scream  and  shriek,  those 
stairs,  like  aged  humans,  twisted  and  rheumatic,  at  the  least 
ungentle  touch.  But  there  was  no  sound  from  them  now. 
There  seemed  something  almost  uncanny  in  the  silent  tread. 
Stair  after  stair  he  descended,  his  entire  weight  thrown 
gradually  upon  one  foot  before  the  other  was  lifted.  The 
strain  upon  the  muscles,  trained  and  hardened  as  they  were; 


THE  CALL  TO  ARMS  320 

told.  As  he  moved  from  the  bottom  step,  he  wiped  little 
beads  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

The  dcor,  now,  that  gave  on  the  alleyway !  He  opened 
it,  slipped  outside,  darted  across  the  narrow  kne,  stole 
along  where  the  shadows  of  the  fence  were  blackest,  paused, 
listening,  as  he  reached  the  end  of  the  alleyway,  to  assure 
himself  that  there  was  no  near-by  pedestrian — and  stepped 
out  into  the  street. 

He  kept  on  along  the  block,  turned  into  the  Bowery,  and, 
under  the  first  lamp,  consulted  his  watch.  It  was  a  quarter 
past  ten.  He  could  make  it  easily  in  a  leisurely  walk.  He 
continued  on  up  the  Bowery,  finally  crossed  to  Broadway^ 
and  shortly  afterward  turned  into  Waverly  Place.  At  the 
corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  he  consulted  his  watch  again — and 
now  he  lighted  a  cigarette.  Sixth  Avenue  was  only  a 
block  away.  At  precisely  half-past  ten,  to  the  second,  he 
haJted  on  the  designated  corner,  smoking  nonchalantly. 

A  taxicab,  coinciclentally  coming  from  an  uptown  dire<x 
tion,  swung  in  to  the  curb. 

"Taxi,  sir?  Yes,  sir?"  Then,  with  an  admirable  mm* 
gling  of  eagerness  to  secure  the  fare  and  a  fear  that  his  con« 
f ession  might  cause  him  the  loss  of  it :  "  I've  another  fare 
in  half  an  hour,  sir,  but  I  can  get  you  most  anywhere  in  that 
time." 

Jimmie  Dale's  cigarette  was  tossed  carelessly  into  the 
street. 

"  St.  James  Club  I "  he  said  curtly,  and  stepped  into  the 
cab. 

The  cab  started  forward,  turned  the  corner,  and  headed 
along  Waverly  Place  toward  Broadway.  The  chauffeur 
twisted  around  in  his  seat  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  as  though 
to  ask  further  directions. 

"  Have  you  anything  for  me  ?  "  he  inquired  casually. 

It  lay  where  it  always  lay,  that  ring,  between  the  folds 
of  that  little  white  glove  in  his  pocketbook.  jimmie  DaL 
took  it  out  now,  and  handed  it  silently  to  the  chauffeur. 

The  other's  face  changed  instantly — composure  was  gone* 
*nd  a  quick,  strained  look  was  in  its  place. 


830    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

I'm  afraid  I've  been  watched,"  he  said  tersely.  "  Look 
behind  you,  will  you,  and  tell  me  if  you  see  anything?" 

Jimmie  Dale  glanced  backward  through  the  little  window 
in  the  hood. 

There's  another  taxi  just  turned  in  from  Sixth  Avenue," 
he  reported  the  next  instant. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  it !  "  instructed  the  chauffeur  shortly. 

The  sp^ed  of  the  cab  increased  sensibly. 

With  a  curious  tightening  of  his  lips,  Jimmie  Dale  set 
tled  himself  in  his  seat  so  that  he  could  watch  the  cab  behind. 
There  was  trouble  coming,  intuitively  he  sensed  that;  and, 
he  reflected  bitterly,  he  might  have  known !  It  was  too  mar 
vellous,  too  wonderful  ever  to  come  to  pass  that  this  one 
hour,  the  thought  of  which  had  fired  his  blood  and  made  him 
glad  beyond  any  gladness  life  had  ever  held  for  him  before, 
should  bring  its  promised  happiness. 

"  Where's  the  cab  now  ?  "  the  chauffeur  flung  back  over 
his  shoulder. 

They  had  passed  Fifth  Avenue,  and  were  nearing  Broad 
way. 

"  About  the  same  distance  behind,"  Jimmie  Dale  an 
swered. 

"  That  looks  bad !  "  the  chauffeur  gritted  between  hi* 
teeth.  "  We'll  have  to  make  sure.  I'll  run  down  Lower 
Broadway." 

•*  If  you  think  we're  followed,"  suggested  Jimmie  Dale 
quietly,  "  why  not  run  uptown  and  give  them  the  slip 
somewhere  where  the  traffic  is  thick?  Lower  Broadway 
at  this  time  of  night  is  as  empty  and  deserted  as  a  country 
road." 

The  chauffeur's  sudden  laugh  was  mirthless. 

"  My  God,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about !  " 
he  burst  out.  "If  they're  following,  all  hell  couldn't  throw 
them  off  the  track.  And  I've  got  to  know,  I've  got  to  be 
sure  before  I  dare  make  a  move  to-night.  I  couldn't  tell 
tip  in  the  crowded  districts  if  I  was  followed,  could  I? 
They  won't  come  out  into  the  open  until  their  hands  are 
forced," 


THE  CALL  TO  ARMS'  331 

The  car  swerved  sharply,  rounded  the  corner,  and,  speed 
ing  up  faster  and  faster,  began  to  tear  down  Lower  Broad 
way. 

"  Watch !    Watch! "  cried  the  chauffeur. 

There  was  no  word  between  them  for  a  moment;  the* 
Jimmie  Dale  spoke  crisply: 

"  It's  turned  the  corner !    It's  coming  this  way !  " 

The  taxicab  was  i-ocking  violently  with  the  speed ;  silent, 
empty,  Lower  Broadway  stretched  iway  ahead  Apart  from 
an  occasional  street  car,  probably  there  would  be  nothing 
between  them  and  the  Battery.  Jimmie  Dale  glanced  at  his 
companion's  face  as  a  light,  flashing  by,  threw  it  into  relief. 
It  was  set  and  stern,  even  a  little  haggard;  but,  too,  there 
was  something  else  there,  something  that  appealed  instantly 
to  Jimmie  Dale — a  sort  of  bulldog  grit  that  dominated  it. 

"If  he  holds  our  speed,  we'll  know! "  the  chauffeur  was 
shouting  now  to  make  himself  heard  over  the  roar  of  the  car- 
M  Look  again !  Where  is  it  now  ?  " 

Once  more  Jimmie  Dale  looked  through  the  little  rear 
window.  The  cab  had  been  a  block  behind  them  when  it 
had  turned  the  corner,  and  he  watched  it  now  in  a  sort  of 
grim  fascination.  There  was  no  possible  doubt  of  it !  The 
two  bobbing,  bouncing  headlights  were  creeping  steadily 
nearer.  And  then  a  sort  of  unnatural  calm  settled  upon 
Jimmie  Dale,  and  his  hand  went  mechanically  to  his  pocket 
to  feel  his  automatic  there,  as  he  turned  again  to  the  chauf 
feur. 

"If  you've  got  any  more  speed,  you'd  better  use  it ! "  h* 
said  significantly. 

The  man  shot  a  quick  look  at  him. 

"  They  are  following  us  ?    You  are  sure?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jimmie  Dale. 

The  chauffeur  laughed  again  in  that  mirthless,  savage 
way. 

"  Lean  over  here,  where  I  can  talk  to  you ! "  he  rasped 
out.  "  The  game's  up,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  guess ! 
But  there's  a  chance  for  you.  They  don't  know  you  in 
this." 


832    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Give  her  more  ,tpeed — or  dodge  into  a  cross  street !  * 
suggested  Jimmie  Dak  coolly.  "  They  haven't  got  us  yet,  by 
a  long  way !  " 

The  other  shook  hrs  head. 

"  It's  not  only  that  cab  behind,"  he  answered,  through  set 
lips.  "  You  don't  know  what  we're  up  against.  If  they're 
really  after  us,  there's  a  trap  laid  in  every  section  of  this 
city — the  devils!  It's  ths  package  they  want.  Thank  God 
for  the  presentiment  that  made  me  leave  it  behind!  I  was 
going  back  for  it,  you  understand,  if  I  was  satisfied  that  we 
weren't  followed.  Listen!  There's  a  chance  for  you — • 
there's  none  for  me.  Thst  package — remember  this! — no 
one  else  knows  where  it  is.  and  it's  life  and  death  to  the  one 

who  sent  you  here.  It's  in  Vtox  428  at My  God,  look! 

Look  there !  "  he  yelled,  and,  with  a  wrench  at  the  wheel, 
sent  the  taxi  lurching  and  staggering  for  the  car  tracks 
in  the  centre  of  the  street. 

The  scene,  fast  as  thought  itself,  was  photographing  it 
self  in  every  detail  upon  Jimmie  Dale's  brain.  From  the 
cross  street  ahead,  one  from  each  corner,  two  motor  cars 
had  nosed  out  into  Broadway,  blocking  the  road  on  both 
sides.  And  now  the  car  on  the  left-hand  side  was  moving 
forward  across  the  tracks  to  counteract  the  chauffeur's 
move,  deliberately  insuring  a  collision.  There  was  no 
chance,  no  further  room  to  turn,  no  time  to  stop— the  man 
driving  the  other  car  jumped  for  safety — they  would  be  into 
it  in  an  instant. 

"  Box  428 !  "  Jimmie  pleaded  fiercely.  "  Go  on,  man ! 
Go  on!  Finish!" 

"  Yes ! "  cried  the  chauffeur.    "  John  Johansson,  at * 

But  Jimmie  Dale  heard  no  more.  There  was  the  crash 
of  impact  as  the  taxicab  plowed  into  the  car  that  had  been 
so  craftily  manoeuvred  in  front  of  it,  and  Jimmie  Dale,  lifted 
from  his  feet,  was  hurled  violently  forward  with  the  shock, 
and  all  went  black  before  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IB 

THE  CRIME  CLUB 

what  length  of  time  he  had  remained  unconscious; 
Jimmie  Dale  had  not  the  slightest  idea.  He  regained 
his  senses  to  find  himself  lying  on  a  couch  in  a  strange  room 
that  had  a  most  exquisitely  brass-wrought  dome  light  in  the 
ceiling.  That  was  what  attracted  his  attention,  because  the 
light  hurt  his  eyes,  and  his  head  was  already  throbbing  as 
though  a  thousand  devils  were  beating  a  diabolical  tattoo 
up<?n  it. 

He  closed  his  eyes  against  the  light.  Where  was  he? 
What  had  happened  ?  Oh,  yes,  he  remembered  now !  That 
smash  on  Lower  Broadway !  He  had  been  hurt.  He  moved 
first  one  limb  and  then  aonther  tentatively,  and  was  relieved 
to  find  that,  though  his  body  ached  as  if  it  had  been  severely 
shaken,  and  his  head  was  bad,  he  had  apparently  escapee? 
without  serious  injury. 

Where  was  he  ?  In  a  hospital  ?  His  fingers,  resting  at  hik 
side  upon  the  couch,  supplied  him  with  the  information  that 
it  was  a  very  expensive  couch,  upholstered  in  finest  leather. 
If  he  were  in  a  hospital,  he  would  be  in  a  cot. 

He  opened  his  eyes  again  to  glance  curiously  around  him. 
The  room  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  artistic  lighting  fix 
ture  and  the  refined,  if  expensive,  taste  that  was  responsible 
for  the  couch.  A  heavy  velvet  rug  of  rich,  dark  green  was 
bordered  by  a  polished  hardwood  floor ;  panellings  of  dark- 
green  frieze  and  beautifully  grained  woodwork  made  the 
lower  walls ;  while  above,  on  a  background  of  some  soft- 
toned  paper,  hung  a  few,  and  evidently  choice,  oil  paintings. 
There  was  a  big,  inviting  lounging  chair ;  a  massive  writing 
table,  or  more  properly,  a  desk  of  walnut;  and  behind  thr. 

333 


834    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

desk,  his  back  half  turned,  apparently  intent  upon  a  book; 
sat  a  man  in  immaculate  evening  dress. 

Jimmie  Dale  closed  his  eyes  again.  There  was  something 
reassuring  about  it  all,  comfortably  reassuring.  Though 
why  there  should  be  any  occasion  for  a  feeling  of  reassur 
ance  at  all,  he  could  not  for  the  moment  make  out.  And 
then,  in  a  sudden  flash,  the  details  of  the  night  came  back  to 
him.  The  Tocsin's  letter — the  package  he  was  to  get — the 
taxicab — the  chauffeur,  who  was  not  a  chauffeur — the  chase 
—the  trap.  He  lay  perfectly  still.  It  was  the  professional 
Jimmie  Dale  now  whose  brain,  in  spite  of  the  throbbing, 
brutally  aching  head,  was  at  work,  keen,  alert. 

The  chauffeur!  What  had  happened  to  him?  Had  the 
man  been  killed  in  the  auto  smash;  or,  less  fortunate  than 
himself,  fallen  into  the  hands  of  those  whose  power  he 
seemed  both  to  fear  and  rate  so  highly?  And  that  pack 
age!  Box — what  was  the  number? — yes,  428.  What  dk* 
that  mean?  What  box?  Where  was  it?  Who  was  John 
Johansson?  He  hadn't  heard  any  more  than  that;  the 
smash  had  come  then.  And  lastly,  he  was  back  again  to  the 
same  question  he  had  begun  with :  Where  was  he  now  him 
self  ?  It  looked  as  though  some  good  Samaritan  had  picked 
him  up.  Who  was  this  gentleman  so  quietly  reading  there 
at  the  desk? 

Jimmie  Dale  opened  his  eyes  for  the  third  time.  How  still, 
how  absolutely  silent  the  room  was !  He  studied  the  man's 
back  speculatively  for  a  moment,  then  his  gaze  travelled 
on  past  the  man  to  the  wall,  rivet:.d  there,  and  his  fingers, 
without  movement  of  his  arm,  pressed  against  the  outside 
of  his  coat  pocket.  He  thought  as  much!  His  automatic 
was  gone ! 

Not  a  muscle  of  Jimmie  Dale's  face  moved.  His  eyes 
shifted  to  a  picture  on  the  wall.  The  man  was  watching  him 
— not  reading!  Just  above  the  level  of  the  desk,  a  small 
mirror  held  the  couch  in  focus — but,  equally,  it  held  the  man 
in  focus,  and  Jimmie  Dale  had  seen  the  other's  eyes,  through 
a  black  mask  that  covered  the  face  to  the  top  of  the  uppe* 
Jtp,  fixed  intently  upon  him. 


THE  CRIME  CLUB  330 

There  was  a  chill  now  where  before  there  had  been  re 
assurance,  something  ominous  in  the  very  quiet  and  refine 
ment  of  the  room;  and  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  inwardly  in 
bitter  irony — his  good  Samaritan  wore  a  mask!  His  self- 
congratulations  Kad  come  too  soon.  Whatever  had  happened 
to  the  chauffeur,  it  was  evident  enough  that  he  himself  was 
caught!  What  was  it  the  chauffeur  had  said?  Something 
about  a  chance  through  being  unknown.  Was  it  to  be  a 
battle  of  wits,  then?  God,  if  his  head  did  not  ache  so  fright 
fully!  It  was  hard  to  think  with  the  brain  half  sick  with 
pain. 

Those  two  eyes  shining  in  that  mirror !  There  seemed 
something  horribly  spectre-like  about  it.  He  did  not  look 
again,  but  he  knew  they  were  there.  It  was  like  a  cat  watch 
ing  a  mouse.  Why  did  not  the  man  speak,  or  move,  or  do 

something,  and He  turned  his  head  slowly;  the  man 

was  laughing  in  a  low,  amused  way. 

"  You  appear  to  be  taken  with  that  picture,"  observed  a 
pleasant  voice.  "  Perhaps  you  recognise  it  from  there  ?  It 
is  a  Corot." 

Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  well-simulated  start,  sat  up — and,  with 
another  quite  as  well  simulated,  stared  at  the  masked  man. 
The  other  had  laid  down  his  book,  and  swung  around  in  hi3 
•chair  to  face  the  couch.  Jimmie  Dale  stood  up  a  little 
jhakily. 

"  Look  here !  "  he  said  awkwardly.  "  I — I  don't  quite  un 
derstand.  I  remember  that  my  taxi  got  into  a  smash-up,  and 
I  suppose  I  have  to  thank  you  for  the  assistance  you  must 
have  rendered  me ;  only,  as  I  say  " — he  looked  in  a  puzzled 
way  around  the  room,  and  in  an  even  more  perplexed  way 
at  the  mask  on  the  other's  face — "  I  must  confess  I  am  at  a 
loss  to  understand  quite  the  meaning  of  this." 

"  Suppose  that  instead  of  trying  to  understand  you  simply 
accept  things  as  you  find  them."  The  voice  was  soft,  but 
there  was  a  finality  in  it  that  its  blandness  only  served  to 
make  the  more  suggestive. 

Jimmie  Dale  drew  himself  up,  and  bowed  coldly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.    "  I  did  not  mean  to  «*r 


336    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

trude.    I  have  only  to  thank  you  again,  then,  and  bid  you 
good-night." 

The  lips  beneath  the  mask  parted  slightly  in  a  politely 
deprecating  smile. 

"  There  is  no  hurry,"  said  the  man,  a  sudden  sharpness 
creeping  into  his  tones.  "  I  am  sorry  that  the  rule  I  apply 
to  you  does  not  work  both  ways.  For  instance,  /  might  be 
quite  at  a  loss  to  account  feu*  your  presence  in  that  taxi- 
cab." 

Jimmie  Dale's  smile  was  equally  polite,  equally  depre 
cating. 

"  I  fail  to  see  how  it  could  be  of  the  slightest  possible  in 
terest  to  you,"  he  replied.  "  However,  I  have  no  objection 
to  telling  you.  I  hailed  the  taxi  at  the  corner  of  Sixth  Ave 
nue  and  Waverly  Place,  told  the  chauffeur  to  drive  me  to  the 
St.  James  Club,  and " 

"  The  St.  James  Club,"  broke  in  the  other  coldly,  "  is,  I 
believe,  north,  not  south  of  Waverly  Place — and  on  Broad 
way  not  at  all." 

Jimmie  Dale  stared  at  the  other  for  an  instant  in  patient 
annoyance. 

"  I  am  quite  well  aware  of  that,"  he  said  stiffly.  "  Never 
theless  I  told  the  man  to  drive  me  to  the  St.  James  Club. 
We  came  across  Waverly  Place,  but  on  reaching  Broad 
way,  instead  of  turning  uptown,  he  suddenly  whirled  in  the 
other  direction  and  sent  the  car  flying  at  full  speed  down 
Lower  Broadway.  I  shouted  at  the  man.  I  don't  know 
yet  whether  he  was  drunk  or  crazy  or" — Jimmie  Dale's, 
eyes  fixed  disdainfully  on  the  other's  mask—"  whether  there 
might  not,  after  all,  have  been  method  in  his  madness.  I 
can  only  say  that  before  we  had  gone  more  than  two  or 
three  blocks,  a  wild  effort  on  his  part  to  avoid  a  collision 
with  an  auto  swinging  out  from  a  side  street  resulted  in^  an 
even  more  disastrous  smash  with  another  on  the  other  side, 
and  I  was  knocked  senseless." 

" '  Victim,'  I  presume,  is  the  idea  you  desire  to  convey," 
observed  the  jother  evenly.  "  You  were  quite  the  victim  of 
circumstances,  as  it  were!" 


THE  CRIME  CLUB  337 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyebrows  lifted  slightly. 

"  It  would  appear  to  be  fairly  obvious,  I  should  say.'* 

"  Very  clever!  "  commented  the  man.  "  Bat  now  suppose 
we  remove  the  buttons  from  the  foils!"  His  voice  rasped 
suddenly.  "  You  are  quite  as  well  aware  as  I  am  that  what 
has  happened  to-night  was  not  an  accident.  Nor — in  case 
the  possibility  may  have  occurred  to  you — are  the  police 
any  the  wiser,  save  for  the  existence  of  two  wrecked  cars  on 
Lower  Broadway,  and  another  which  escaped,  and  for  which 
doubtless  they  are  still  searching  assiduously.  The  owner 
ship  of  the  taxicab  you  so  inadvertently  entered  they 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  establishing — you,  perhaps,  how 
ever,  are  in  a  better  position  than  I  am  to  appreciate  the  fact 
that  the  establishment  of  its  ownership  will  lead  them  no 
where.  As  I  understand  it,  the  man  who  drove  you  to-night 
obtained  the  loan  of  the  cab  from  one  of  the  company's 
chauffeur's  in  return  for  a  hundred-dollar  bill.  Am  I 
right?" 

"  In  view  of  what  has  happened,"  admitted  Jimmie  Dale 
simply,  **  I  should  not  be  surprised." 

There  was  a  sort  of  sardonic  admiration  in  the  other's 
laugh. 

"  As  for  the  other  car,"  he  went  on,  "  I  can  assure  you 
that  its  ownership  will  never  be  known.  When  the  nearest 
patrolman  rushed  up,  there  were  no  survivors  of  the  disas 
ter,  save  those  in  the  third  car  which  he  was  powerless  to 
stop — which  accounts  for  your  presence  here,  You  will 
admit  that  I  have  been  quite  frank." 

"  Oh,  quite !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale,  a  little  wearily.  "  But 
would  you  mind  telling  me  what  all  this  is  leading  to?  " 

The  man  had  been  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  one  hand, 
palm  downward,  resting  lightly  on  the  desk.  He  shifted  his 
hand  now  suddenly  to  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  This! "  he  said,  and  on  the  desk  where  his  hand  had  been 
lay  the  Tocsin's  gold  signet  ring. 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  expressed  mild  curiosity.  He  could 
•fad  the  other's  eyes  boring  into  him. 

**Wc  were  speaking  of  ownership,**  said  the  man,  »  a 


338    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

low,  menacing  tone.  "  I  want  to  know  where  the  woman 
who  owns  this  ring  can  be  found  to-night." 

There  was  no  play,  no  trifling  here ;  the  man  was  in  deadly 
earnest.  But  it  seemed  to  Jimmie  Dale,  even  with  the 
sense  of  peril  more  imminent  with  every  instant,  that  he 
could  have  laughed  outright  in  savage  mockery  at  the  irony 
of  the  question.  Where  was  she?  Even  zuho  was  she ?  And 
this  was  the  hour  in  which  he  was  to  have  known ! 

"  May  I  look  at  it  ?  "  he  requested  calmly. 

The  other  nodded,  but  his  eyes  never  left  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  It  will  give  you  an  extra  moment  or  so  to  frame  your 
answer,"  he  said  sarcastically. 

Jimmie  Dale  ignored  the  thrust,  picked  up  the  ring,  ex 
amined  it  deliberately,  and  set  it  back  again  on  the  table. 

"  Since  I  do  not  know  who  owns  it,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot 
answer  your  question." 

"  No !  Well,  then,  there  is  still  another  matter— a  little 
package  that  was  in  the  taxicab  with  you.  Where  is  that?" 

"  See  here ! "  said  Jimmie  Dale  irritably.  "  This  has 
gone  far  enough !  I  have  seen  no  package,  large  or  small, 
or  of  any  description  whatever.  You  are  evidently  mistak 
ing  me  for  some  one  else.  You  have  only  to  telephone  to 
the  St.  James  Club."  He  reached  toward  his  pocket  for  his 
cardcase.  "  My  name  is " 

"  Dale,"  supplied  the  other  curtly.  "  Don't  bother  about 
the  card,  Mr.  Dale.  We  have  already  taken  the  liberty  of 
searching  you."  He  rose  abruptly  from  his  chair.  "  I  am 
afraid  you  do  not  quite  realise  your  position,  Mr.  Dale," 
he  said,  with  an  ominous  smile.  "  Let  me  make  it  clear.  I 
do  not  wish  to  be  theatrical  about  this,  but  we  do  not  tem 
porise  here.  You  will  either  answer  both  of  those  questions 
to  my  satisfaction,  or  you  will  never  leave  this  place  alive." 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  hardened.  His  eyes  met  the  other's 
steadily. 

"  Ah,  I  think  I  begin  to  see !  "  he  said  caustically.  "  When 
I  have  been  thoroughly  frightened  I  shall  be  offered  my 
freedom  at  a  price.  A  sort  of  up-to-date  game  of  holdup! 
Jibe  penalty  of  being  a  wealthy  man!  If  you  had  named 


THE  CRIME  CLUB  339 

your  figure  to  begin  with,  we  would  have  saved  a  lot  of  idle 
talk,  and  you  would  have  had  my  answer  the  sooner :  Noth- 
ing!" 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  the  other,  in  a  grimly  musing  way, 
"there  has  always  been  one  man,  but  only  one  until  now, 
that  I  have  wished  I  might  add  to  my  present  associates. 
I  refer  to  the  so-called  Gray  Seal.  To-night  there  are  two. 
I  pay  you  the  compliment  of  being  the  other.  But  " — he  was 
smiling  ominously  again — "  we  are  wasting  time,  Mr.  Dale. 
I  am  willing  to  expose  my  hand  to  the  extent  of  admitting 
that  the  information  you  are  withholding  is  infinitely  more 
valuable  to  me  than  the  mere  wreaking  of  reprisal  upon  you 
for  a  refusal  to  talk.  Therefore,  if  you  will  answer,  I 
pledge  you  my  word  you  will  be  free  to  leave  here  within 
five  minutes.  If  you  refuse,  you  are  already  aware  of  the 
alternative.  Well,  Mr.  Dale?" 

Who  was  this  man  ?  Jimmie  Dale  was  studying  the  other's 
chin,  the  lips,  the  white,  even  teeth,  the  jet-black  hair. 
Some  day  the  tables  might  be  turned.  Could  he  recognise 
again  this  cool,  imperturbable  ruffian  who  so  callously 
threatened  him  with  murder? 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dale?    I  am  waiting !  " 

"  I  am  not  a  magician,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  contemptuously. 
''  I  could  not  answer  your  questions  if  I  wanted  to." 

The  other's  hand  slid  instantly  to  a  row  of  electric  buttons 
on  the  desk. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Dale !  "  he  said  quietly.  "  You  do  not 
believe,  I  see,  that  I  would  dare  to  carry  my  threat  into 
execution ;  you  perhaps  even  doubt  my  power.  I  shall  take 
the  trouble  to  convince  you — I  imagine  it  will  stimulate 
your  memory." 

The  door  opened.  Two  men  were  standing  on  the  thresh 
old,  both  in  evening  dress,  both  masked.  The  man  behind 
the  desk  came  forward,  took  Jimmie  Dale's  arm  almost 
courteously,  and  led  him  from  the  room  out  into  a  corridor, 
where  he  halted  abruptly. 

"  I  want  to  call  your  attention  first,  Mr.  Dale,  to  the  fact 
that  as  far  as  you  are  concerned  you  neither  have  now,  nor 


840    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

ever  will  have,  any  idea  whether  you  are  in  the  heart  of 
New  York  or  fifty  miles  away  from  it.  Now,  listen!  D«* 
you  hear  anything?" 

There  was  nothing.  Only  the  strange  silence  of  that  other 
room  was  intensified  now.  There  was  not  a  sound ;  stillness 
such  as  it  seemed  to  Jimmie  Dale  he  had  never  experienced 
before  was  around  him. 

"  You  may  possibly  infer  from  the  silence  that  you  are 
not  in  the  city,"  suggested  the  other,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"  I  leave  you  to  your  own  conclusions  in  that  respect.  The 
cause,  however,  of  the  silence  is  internal,  not  external; 
we  had  sound-proof  principles  in  mind  to  a  perhaps  ex 
aggerated  degree  when  this  building  was  constructed.  If 
you  care  to  do  so,  you  have  my  permission  to  shout,  say, 
for  help,  to  your  heart's  content.  We  shall  make  no  effort 
to  stop  you." 

Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  was  staring 
down  a  brilliantly  lighted,  richly  carpeted  corridor.  There 
were  doors  on  one  side,  windows  on  the  other,  the  windows 
all  hung  with  heavy,  closely  drawn  portieres.  The  corridor 
was  certainly  not  on  the  ground  floor,  but  whether  it  was 
on  the  second  or  third,  or  even  above  that  again,  he  had  no 
means  of  knowing.  From  appearances,  though,  the  place 
seemed  more  like  a  large,  private  mansion  than  anything  else. 

"  Just  one  word  more  before  we  proceed,"  continued 
the  other.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  labour  under  any  illusion. 
Here  we  are  frankly  criminals.  This  is  our  home.  It  should 
have  some  effect  in  impressing  you  with  the  power  and  re 
source  at  our  command,  and  also  with  the  class  of  men 
with  whom  you  are  dealing.  There  is  not  one  among  us 
whose  education  is  not  fully  equal  to  your  own ;  not  one, 
indeed,  but  who  is  chosen,  granting  first  his  criminal  ten 
dencies,  because  he  is  a  specialist  in  his  own  particular  field 
— in  commerce,  in  the  government  diplomatic  service,  in 
the  professions  of  law  and  medicine,  in  the  ranks  of  pure 
science.  We  are  bordering  on  the  fantastical,  are  we  not? 
Dreaming,  you  will  probably  say,  of  the  Utopian  in  crim* 


THE  CRIME  CLUB  341 

organisation.  Quite  so,  Mr.  Dale.  I  only  ask  you  to  con 
sider  the  possibilities  if  what  I  say  is  true.  Now  let  us 
proceed.  I  am  going  to  take  you  into  three  rooms — the  three 
whose  doors  you  see  ahead  of  you.  You  will  notice  that, 
including  the  one  you  have  just  left,  there  are  four  on  this 
corridor.  I  do  not  wish  to  strain  your  credulity,  or  play 
tricks  upon  you ;  so  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  fix  an  ap 
proximate  idea  of  the  length  of  the  corridor  in  your  mind, 
as  it  will  perhaps  enable  you  to  account  more  readily  for 
what  may  appear  to  be  a  discrepancy  in  the  corresponding 
size  of  the  rooms." 

One  of  the  men  opened  the  door  ahead.  Jimmie  Dale, 
at  a  sign  from  his  conductor,  moved  forward  and  entered. 
Just  what  he  had  expected  to  find  he  could  not  have  told ; 
his  brain  was  whirling,  partly  from  his  aching  head,  partly 
from  his  desperate  effort  to  conceive  some  way  of  escape 
from  the  peril  which,  for  all  his  nonchalance,  he  knew  only 
too  well  was  the  gravest  he  had  ever  faced ;  but  what  he 
saw  was  simply  a  cozily  furnished  bedroom.  There  was 
nothing  peculiar  about  it;  nothing  out  of  the  way,  except 
perhaps  that  it  was  rather  narrow. 

And  then  suddenly,  rubbing  his  eyes  involuntarily,  he 
was  staring  in  a  dazed  way  before  him.  The  whole  right- 
hand  side  of  the  wall  was  sinking  without  a  sound  into  the 
floor,  increasing  the  width  of  the  room  by  some  five  or  six 
feet — and  in  this  space  was  disclosed  what  appeared  to  be 
a  sort  of  chemical  laboratory,  elaborately  equipped,  extend 
ing  the  entire  length  of  the  room. 

"  The  wall  is  purely  a  matter  of  mechanical  construc 
tion,  operated  hydraulically."  The  man  was  speaking  softly 
at  Jimmie  Dale's  side.  "  The  room  beneath  is  built  to  corre 
spond  ;  the  base,  ceiling,  and  wall  mouldings  here  do  not  have 
to  be  very  ingenious  to  effect  a  disguise.  I  might  say,  how 
ever,  that  few  visitors,  other  than  yourself,  have  ever  seen 
anything  here  but  a  bedroom."  He  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  retorts,  the  racks  of  test  tubes,  the  hundred  and  one 
articles  that  strewed  the  laboratory  bench.  "As  for  this, 


342    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

its  purpose  is  twofold.  We,  as  well,  as  the  police,  have  ofte* 
need  of  analysis.  We  make  it.  If  we  require  a  drug,  a 
poison,  say,  we  compound  it  from  its  various  ingredients, 
or,  as  the  case  may  be,  distil  it,  perhaps — it  is,  you  will 
agree,  somewhat  more  difficult  to  trace  to  its  source  if  pro 
cured  that  way.  And  speaking  of  poisons  " — he  stepped 
forward,  and  lifted  a  glass-stoppered  bottle  containing  a 
colourless  liquid  from  a  shelf — "  in  a  modest  way  we  have 
even  done  some  original  research  work  here.  This,  for  in* 
stance,  is  as  Utopian  from  cur  standpoint  as  the  formation 
and  personnel  of  the  organisation  I  have  briefly  outlined 
to  you.  It  possesses  very  essential  qualities.  It  is  almost 
instantaneous  in  its  action,  requires  a  very  small  quantity, 
and  defies  detection  even  by  autopsy."  He  uncorked  the 
bottle,  and  dipped  in  a  long  glass  rod.  "  Will  you  watch 
the  experiment  ?  "  he  invited,  with  a  sort  of  ghastly  pleas 
antry.  "  I  do  not  want  you  to  accept  anything  on  trust." 

With  a  start,  Jimmie  Dale  swung  around.  He  had  heard 
no  sound,  but  another  man  was  at  his  elbow  now — and, 
struggling  in  the  man's  hand,  was  a  little  white  rabbit. 

It  was  over  in  an  instant.  A  single  drop  in  the  rabbit's 
mouth,  and  the  animal  had  stiffened  out,  a  lifeless  thing. 

"  It  is  quite  as  effective  on  the  human  organism,"  con 
tinued  the  other,  "  only,  instead  of  one  drop,  three  are  re 
quired.  If  I  make  it  ten  " — he  was  carefully  measuring 
the  liquid  into  two  wineglasses — "  it  is  only  that  even  you 
may  be  satisfied  that  the  quantity  is  fatal."  He  filled  up 
the  glasses  with  what  was  apparently  wine  of  some  descrip 
tion,  which  he  poured  from  a  decanter,  and  held  out  the 
glasses  in  front  of  him. 

And  again  Jimmie  Dale  started,  again  he  had  heard  no 
one  enter,  and  yet  two  men  had  stepped  forward  from 
behind  him  and  had  taken  the  glasses  from  their  leader's 
hands.  He  glanced  around  him,  counting  quickly — they  were 
surely  the  two  who  had  entered  with  him  from  the  corridor. 
No!  Including  the  leader,  there  were  now  six  men,  all  in 
evening  dress,  all  masked,  in  the  room  with  him. 

A  wave  of  the  leader's  hand,  and  the  two  men 


THE  CRIME  CLUB  343 

the  glasses  left  the  room.  The  man  turned  to  Jimmie  Dale 
again. 

"  Shall  we  proceed  to  the  second  room,  Mr.  Dale  ?  "  he 
asked  politely.  "  I  think  it  is  now  prepared  for  us — I  do 
not  wish  to  bore  you  with  a  repetition  of  magical  sliding 
walls." 

There  was  something  now  that  numbed  the  ache  in  Jim 
mie  Dale's  brain — a  sense  of  some  deadly,  remorseless  thing 
that  seemed  to  be  constantly  creeping  closer  to  him,  clutch 
ing  at  him — to  smother  him,  to  choke  him.  There  was  some 
thing  absolutely  fiendish,  terrifying,  in  the  veneer  of  culture 
around  him. 

They  had  entered  the  second  room.  This,  like  the  other, 
was  a  pseudo-bedroom ;  but  here  the  movable  wall  was 
already  down.  Ranged  along  the  right-hand  side  were  a 
i^reat  number  of  cabinets  that  slid  in  and  out,  mwch  after 
!:he  style  and  fashion  used  by  clothing  dealers  to  stock  and 
display  their  wares.  These  cabinets  were  now  all  open, 
displaying  hundreds  of  costumes  of  all  kinds  and  descrip 
tions,  and  evidently  complete  to  the  minutest  detail.  The 
cabinets  were  flanked  by  full-length  mirrors  at  each  end  of 
the  room,  and  on  little  tables  before  the  mirrors  was  an 
assortment,  that  none  better  than  Jimmie  Dale  himself 
could  appreciate,  of  make-up  accessories. 

The  man  smiled  apologetically. 

"  I  am  afraid  this  is  rather  uninteresting,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  shown  it  to  you  simply  that  you  may  understand  that 
we  are  alive  to  the  importance  of  detail.  Disguise,  that  is 
daily  vital  to  us,  is  an  art  that  depends  essentially  on  detail. 
T  venture  to  say  we  could  impersonate  any  character  or  type 
or  nationality  or  class  in  the  United  States  at  a  moment's 
notice.  But " — he  took  Jimmie  Dale's  arm  again  and  con 
ducted  him  out  into  the  corridor,  while  the  two  men  who 
were  evidently  acting  the  role  of  guards  followed  closely 
behind — "  there  is  still  the  third  room — here."  He  halted 
Jimmie  Dale  before  the  door.  "  I  have  asked  you  to  answer 
two  questions,  Mr.  Dale,"  he  said  softly.  "  I  ask  you  now; 
to  remember  the  alternative." 


344    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

They  still  stccxl  before  the  door.  There  was  that  tm- 
canny  silence  again — it  seemed  to  Jimmie  Dale  to  last  in 
terminably.  Neither  jf  the  three  men  surrounding  him 
moved  nor  spoke.  Then  the  door  before  him  was  opened 
on  an  unlighted  room,  and  he  was  led  across  the  threshold. 
He  heard  the  door  close  behind  him.  The  lights  came  on. 
And  th^n  it  seemed  as  though  he  could  not  move,  as  though 
he  were  rooted  to  the  spot  -and  the  colour  ebbed  from  his 
face.  Three  figures  were  before  him:  the  two  men  who 
had  carried  the  glasses  from  the  first  room,  and  the  chauffeur 
who  had  driven  him  in  the  taxicab.  The  two  men  still 
held  the  glasses — the  chauffeur  was  bound  hand  and  foot 
in  a  chair  One  of  the  glasses  was  empty;  the  other  was 
still  significantly  full. 

Jimmie  Dale,  with  a  violent  effort  at  self-control,  leaned 
forward. 

The  man  in  the  chair  was  dead 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  INNOCENT  BYSTANDER 

rPHERE  was  not  a  s  und  Thc.t  stillness,  weird,  unnerv- 
ing,  that  permeated,  ar  it  were,  everywhere  through 
that  mysterious  house,  was,  if  that  were  possible,  accen 
tuated  n  w.  The  four  masked  men  in  evening  dress,  five 
including  their  leader,  for  the  man  who  had  appeared  in 
that  other  room  with  the  rabbit  was  not  here,  were  as  silent, 
as  motionless,  as  the  dead  man  who  was  lashed  there  in  the 
chair.  And  to  Jimmie  Dale  it  seemed  at  first  as  though  his 
brain,  stunned  and  stupefied  at  the  shock,  refused  its  func 
tions,  and  left  him  groping  blindly,  vaguely,  with  only  a  sort 
of  dull,  subconscious  realisation  of  menace  and  a  deadly 
peril,  imminent,  hanging  over  him. 

He  tried  to  rouse  himself  mentally,  to  prod  his  brain  to 
action,  to  pit  it  in  a  fight  for  life  against  these  self-confessed 
criminals  and  murderers  with  their  mask  of  culture,  who 
surrounded  him  now.  Was  there  a  way  out?  What  was 
it  the  Tocsin  had  said — "the  most  powerful  and  pitiles? 
organisation  of  criminals  the  world  has  ever  known — the 
stake  a  fortune  of  millions — her  life !  "  There  had,  indeed 
been  no  overemphasir  in  the  words  she  had  u^d!  They 
had  taken  pains  themselves  to  make  that  ominously  clear, 
these  men !  Every  detail  of  the  strange  house,  with  its 
luxurious  furnishings,  its  cleverly  contrived  appointments, 
breathed  a  horribly  suggestive  degree  of  pow  .r,  a  deadly 
purpose,  and  an  organisation  swayed  by  a  master  mind; 
and,  grim  evidence  of  the  merciless,  inexorable  length  to 
which  they  would  go,  was  the  ghastly  white  face  of  the 
dead  chauffeur,  bound  hand  and  foot,  in  the  chair  before 
himl 

345 


346    THE  ADVENTURES  Oi?1  JIMMIE  DALE 

That  empty  glass  in  the  hand  of  one  of  the  men!  He 
could  not  take  his  eyes  from  it — except  as  his  eyes  were 
drawn  magnetically  to  that  full  glass  in  the  hand  of  one 
of  the  others.  What  height  of  sardonic  irony !  He  was  to 
drink  that  other  glass,  to  die  because  he  refused  to  answer 
questions  that  for  years,  with  every  resource  at  his  com 
mand,  risking  his  liberty,  his  wealth,  his  name,  his  life,  with 
everything  that  he  cared  for  thrown  into  the  scales,  he  had 
struggled  to  solve — and  failed! 

And  then  the  leader  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Dale,"  he  said,  with  cold  significance,  "  I  regret 
to  admit  that  your  pseudo  taxicab  driver  was  so  ill-advised 
as  to  refuse  to  answer  the  same  questions  that  I  have  put 
to  you." 

Five  to  one!  That  was  the  only  way  out — and  it  was 
hopeless.  It  was  the  only  way  out,  because,  convinced  that 
he  could  answer  those  questions  if  he  wanted  to,  these  men 
Were  in  deadly  earnest:  it  was  hopeless,  because  they  were 
— five  to  one!  And  probably  there  were  as  many  more, 
iwice  or  three  times  as  many  more  within  call.  But  what 
«lid  it  matter  how  many  more  there  were!  He  could  fight 
until  he  was  overpowered,  that  was  all  he  could  do,  and  the 
five  could  accomplish  that.  Still,  if  he  could  knock  the  full 
glass  out  of  that  man's  hand,  and  gain  the  door,  then  per 
haps — he  turned  quickly,  as  the  door  opened.  It  was  as 
though  they  had  read  his  thoughts.  A  number  of  men  were 
grouped  outside  in  the  corridor,  then  the  door  closed  again 
with  a  cordon  ranged  against  it  inside  the  room ;  and  at  the 
same  instant  his  arms  and  wrists  were  caught  in  a  powerful 
grasp  by  the  two  men  immediately  behind  him,  who  all 
along  had  enacted  the  role  of  guards. 

Again  the  leader  spoke. 

"  I  will  repeat  the  questions,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Where 
is  the  woman  whose  ring  was  found  on  that  man  there  in 
the  chair?  And  where  is  the  package  that  you  two  men 
Had  with  you  in  the  taxicab  to-night?" 

Jimmie  Dale  glanced  from  the  tall,  straight,  immaculately 
"ilothed  figure  of  the  speaker,  from  the  threatening  smile 


THE  INNOCENT  BYSTANDER  347 

on  the  set  lips  that  just  showed  under  the  edge  of  the  mask, 
to  the  dead  man  in  the  chair.  He  had  faced  the  prospect 
of  death  before  many  times,  but  it  had  come  with  the  heat 
of  passion  accompanying  it,  it  had  come  quickly,  abruptly, 
with  every  faculty  called  into  action  to  combat  it,  without 
time  to  dwell  upon  it,  to  sift,  weigh,  or  measure  its  meaning, 
and  if  there  had  been  fear  it  had  been  subordinate  to  other 
emotions.  But  it  was  different  now.  He  could  not,  of 
course,  answer  those  questions ;  nor,  he  was  doggedly  con 
scious,  would  he  have  answered  them  if  he  could — and  there 
was  no  middle  course. 

Death,  within  the  next  few  moments,  stared  him  in  the 
face;  and  it  seemed  curiously  irrelevant  that,  in  a  sort  of 
unnatural  calmness,  he  should  be  attempting  to  analyse 
his  feelings  and  emotions  concerning  it.  All  his  life  it  had 
seemed  to  him  that  the  acme  of  human  mental  torture  was 
the  cell  of  a  condemned  criminal,  with  the  horror  of  its 
hopelessness,  with  the  time  to  dwell  upon  it ;  and  that  the 
acme  of  that  torture  itself  must  be  that  awful  moment  im 
mediately  preceding  execution,  when  anticipation  at  last  was 
to  merge  into  soul-sickening  reality. 

Strange  that  thought  should  come!  Strange  that  he 
should  be  framing  a  brain  picture  of  such  a  scene,  vivid, 
minute  in  detail!  No — not  strange.  He  was  picturing 
himself.  The  analogy  was  not  perfect,  it  was  true,  he  had 
not  had  the  months,  weeks,  days  and  hours  of  suspense; 
but  it  was  perfect  enough  to  bring  home  to  him  with  ap 
palling  force  the  realisation  of  his  position.  He  was  stand 
ing  as  a  condemned  man  might  stand  in  those  last,  final 
moments,  those  moments  which  he  had  imagined  must  be  the 
most  terrible  that  could  exist  in  life ;  but  that  dismay  of  soul, 
the  horror,  the  terror  were  not  his — there  was,  instead,  a 
smouldering  fury,  a  passionate  amazement  that  it  was  his 
own  life  that  was  threatened.  It  seemed  impossible  that  it 
could  be  his  voice  that  was  speaking  now  in  such  quiet, 
measured  tones. 

"  Is  it  worth  while,  will  it  convince  you  now,  any  more 
than  before,  to  repeat  that  there  is  some  mistake  here?  t 


348    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

am  no  more  able  to  answer  your  questions  than  you  are 
yourselves.  I  never  saw  that  man  in  the  chair  there  in  my 
life  until  the  moment  that  I  hailed  him  in  his  cab  to-night. 
I  do  not  know  who  the  woman  is  to  whom  that  ring  be 
longs,  much  less  do  I  know  where  she  is.  And  if  there 
was  a  package  of  any  sort  in  the  taxicab,  as  you  state,  I 
never  saw  it." 

The  lips  under  the  mask  curved  into  a  lupine  smile. 

"  Think  well,  Mr.  Dale !  "  The  man's  voice  was  low, 
menacing.  "  Ethically,  if  you  so  choose  to  consider  it,  your 
refusal  may  be  the  act  of  a  brave  man;  practically,  it  is 
the  act  of — a  fool.  Now — your  answer !  " 

"  I  have  answered  you,"  said  Jimmie  Dale — and,  relax 
ing  the  muscles  in  his  arms,  let  them  hang  limply  for  an 
instant  in  the  grip  of  the  two  men  behind  him.  "  I  have 
no  other  answer." 

It  was  only  a  sign,  a  motion  of  the  leader's  hand — but 
with  it,  quick  as  a  lightning  flash,  Jimmie  Dale  was  in  ac 
tion.  The  limp  arms  tautened  into  steel  as  he  wrenched  them 
loose,  and,  whirling  around,  he  whipped  his  fist  to  the  chin 
of  one  of  the  two  guards. 

In  an  instant,  with  the  blow,  as  the  man  staggered  back 
ward,  the  room  was  in  pandemonium.  There  was  a  rush 
from  the  door,  and  two,  three,  four  leaping  forms  hurled 
themselves  upon  Jimmie  Dale.  He  shook  them  off — and 
they  came  again.  There  was  no  chance  ultimately,  he  knew 
that ;  it  was  only  the  elemental  within  him  that  rose  in  fierce 
revolt  at  the  thought  of  tame  submission,  that  bade  him  sell 
his  life  as  dearly  as  he  could.  Panting,  gasping  for  breath, 
dragging  them  by  sheer  strength  as  they  clung  to  him,  he 
got  his  back  to  the  wall,  fighting  with  the  savage  fury  and 
abandon  of  a  wild  cat. 

But  it  could  not  last.  Where  one  man  went  down  be 
fore  him,  two  remorselessly  appeared — the  room  seemed 
filled  with  men — they  poured  in  through  the  door — he 
laughed  at  them  in  a  half-demented  way — more  and  more  of 
them  came — there  was  no  play  for  his  arms,  no  room  to 
fight — they  seemed  so  close  around  him,  so  many  of  them 


THE  INNOCENT  BYSTANDER  349 

upon  him,  that  he  could  not  breathe — and  he  was  bending, 
being  crushed  down  as  by  an  intolerable  weight.  And  then 
his  feet  were  jerked  from  beneath  him,  he  crashed  to  the 
floor,  and,  in  another  moment,  bound  hand  and  foot,  he  was 
tied  into  a  chair  beside  that  other  chair  whose  grim  occupant 
sat  in  such  ghastly  apathy  of  the  scene. 

The  room  cleared  instantly  of  all  but  the  original  five. 
His  head  was  drawn  suddenly,  violently  backward,  and 
clamped  in  that  position;  and  a  metal  instrument,  forced 
into  his  mouth,  while  his  lips  bled  in  their  resistance,  pried 
his  jaws  apart  and  held  them  open. 

"  One  drop !  "  the  leader  ordered  curtly. 

The  man  with  the  full  glass  bent  over  him,  and  dipped  a 
glass  rod  into  the  liquid.  The  drop  glistened  a  ruby  red  on 
the  end  of  the  rod — and  fell  with  a  sharp,  acrid,  burning 
sensation  upon  Jimmie  Dale's  tongue. 

For  a  moment  Jimmie  Dale's  animation,  mental  and  phys 
ical,  seemed  swept  away  from  him  in,  as  it  were,  a  hiatus 
of  hideous  suspense.  What  was  it  to  be  like  this  passing? 
Why  did  it  not  act  at  once,  as  it  had  acted  on  the  rabbit 
they  had  showed  him  in  the  other  room?  Yes,  he  remem 
bered  !  It  took  more  than  one  drop  for  a  man ;  and  besides, 
this  was  diluted.  One  drop  had  no  effect  on  a  man ;  it  re 
quired Good  God,  one  drop  even  of  this  was  enough! 

He  strained  forward  in  the  chair  until  the  sweat  in  great 
heads  sprang  from  his  forehead,  strained  and  fought  and 
tore  at  his  bonds  in  a  paroxysm  of  madness  to  free  him 
self  while  there  still  remained  a  little  strength.  There  was 
something  filming  before  his  eyes,  a  numbed  feeling  was 
creeping  through  his  limbs,  robbing  them,  sapping  them  of 
their  vitality  and  power.  He  felt  himself  slipping  away  into 
a  state  of  utter  weakness,  and  his  brain  began  to  grow  con 
fused. 

A  voice  seemed  to  float  in  the  air  near  him :  "  For  the 
last  time — will  you  answer  ?  " 

With  a  supreme  effort,  Jimmie  Dale  strove  to  rally  his 
tottering  senses.  Did  they  not  understand  the  stupendous 
mockery  of  their  questions  ?  Did  they  not  understand  that 


350    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

he  did  not  know?    He  had  told  them  so — perhaps  he  had 
better  tell  them  so  again. 

"  I "     He  tried  to  speak,  and  found  the  words  thicV 

upon  his  tongue.    "  I — do  not — know." 

The  glass  itself  was  thrust  abruptly  between  his  lips, 
Some  of  the  contents  spilled  and  trickled  upon  his  chin^ 
and  then  a  flood  of  it,  burning,  fiery,  poured  down  his  throat. 
A  flood  of  it — and  it  needed  but  three  drops  and  there  had 
been  ten  in  the  glass ! 

So  this  was  death — a  hazy,  nebulous  thing!  There  wat 
no  pain.  It  was  like — like — nothingness.  And  out  of  the 
nothingness  she  came.  Strange  that  she  should  cornel 
Alone  she  had  fought  these  fiends  and  outwitted  them  foi 
— how  long  was  it  ?  Three  years !  She  would  be  more  than 
ever  alone  now.  Pray  God  she  did  not  finally  fall  inte 
their  clutches ! 

How  it  burned  now,  that  fatal  draught  they  had  forced 
down  his  throat,  and  how  it  gripped  at  him  and  seemed  tc 
eat  and  bore  its  way  into  the  very  tissues !  It  was  the  end, 
and — no!  It  was  stimulating  him!  Strength  seemed  to 
be  returning  to  his  limbs ;  it  seemed  as  though  he  were 
being  carried,  as  though  the  bonds  about  him  were  being 
loosened ;  and  now  his  brain  seemed  to  be  growing  clearer. 

He  roused  up  with  a  startled  exclamation.  He  was  back 
in  the  same  room  in  which  he  had  first  returned  to  con 
sciousness  after  the  accident.  He  was  on  the  same  couch. 
The  same  masked  figure  was  at  the  same  desk.  Had  he 
been  dreaming?  Was  this  then  only  some  horrible,  ghastly 
nightmare  through  which  he  had  passed  ? 

No,  it  had  been  real  enough;  his  clothes,  rent  and  torn, 
and  the  blood  upon  his  hands,  where  the  skin  had  been 
scraped  from  his  knuckles  in  the  fight,  bore  evidence  to  that. 
He  must  then  have  lost  consciousness  for  a  while,  though 
it  seemed  to  him  that  at  no  moment,  hazy,  irrational  though 
his  brain  might  have  been,  had  he  become  entirely  oblivious 
to  what  was  taking  place  around  him.  And  yet  it  must  have 
been  so! 

The  eyes  from  behind  the  mask  were  fixed  steadily  upon 


THE  INNOCENT  BYSTANDER  351 

Wm,  and  below  the  mask  there  was  the  hard,  unpleasant 
set  to  the  lips  that  Jimmie  Dale  had  grown  accustomed  to 
expect. 

The  man  spoke  abruptly. 

"  That  you  find  yourself  alive,  Mr.  Dale,"  he  said  grimly, 
**  is  no  confession  of  weakness  upon  the  part  of  those  with, 
whom  you  have  had  to  deal  here.  To  bear  witness  to  that 
there  is  one  who  is  not  alive,  as  you  have  seen.  That  man 
we  knew.  With  you  it  was  somewhat  different.  Your  pres 
ence  in  the  taxicab  was  only  suspicious.  There  was  always 
the  possibility  that  you  might  be  one  of  those  ubiquitous  '  in 
nocent  bystanders.'  Your  name,  your  position,  the  improb 
ability  that  you  could  have  anything  in  common  with — shall 
we  say,  the  matter  that  so  deeply  interests  us? — was  all  in 
your  favour.  However,  presumption  and  probability  are 
the  tools  of  fools.  We  do  not  depend  upon  them — we  apply 
the  test.  And  having  applied  the  test,  we  are  convinced 
that  you  have  told  the  truth — that  is  all." 

He  rose  from  his  chair  brusquely.  "  I  shaii  not  apologise 
to  you  for  what  has  happened.  I  doubt  very  much  if  you 
are  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  accept  anything  of  the  sort.  I 
imagine,  rather,  that  you  are  promising  yourself  that  we 
shall  pay,  and  pay  dearly,  for  this — that,  among  other  things, 
we  shall  answer  for  the  murder  of  that  man  in  the  other 
room.  All  this  will  be  quite  within  your  province,  Mr. 
Dale — and  quite  fruitless.  To-morrow  morning  the  story 
that  you  are  preparing  to  tell  now  would  sound  incredible 
even  in  your  own  ears ;  furthermore,  as  we  shall  take  pains 
to  see  that  you  leave  this  place  with  as  little  knowledge  of 
its  location  as  you  obtained  when  you  arrived,  your  story, 
even  if  believed,  would  do  little  service  to  you  and  less  harm 

to  us.  I  think  of  nothing  more,  Mr.  Dale,  except " 

There  was  a  whimsical  smile  on  the  lips  now.  "  Ah,  yes, 
the  matter  of  your  clothes.  We  can,  and  shall  be  glad  to 
make  reparation  to  you  to  the  slight  extent  of  offering  you  a 
new  suit  before  you  go." 

Jimmie  Dale  scowled.    Sick,  shaken,  and  weak  as  he  was. 


852    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

the   cool,   imperturbable  impudence  of  the  man  was  fask 
growing  unbearable. 

The  man  laughed.  "  I  am  sure  you  will  not  refuse,  Mr. 
Dale — since  we  insist.  The  condition  of  the  clothes  you 
have  on  at  present  might — I  say  '  might ' — in  a  measure 
support  your  story  with  some  degree  of  tangible  evidence- 
It  is  not  at  all  likely,  of  course ;  but  we  prefer  to  discount 
even  so  remote  a  possibility.  When  you  have  changed,  you 
will  be  motored  back  to  your  home.  I  b'd  you  g^od-night, 
Mr.  Dale." 

Jimmie  Dale  rubbed  his  eyes.  The  man  was  gone — • 
through  a  door  at  the  rear  of  the  desk,  a  door  that  he  had 
not  noticed  before,  that  was  not  even  in  evidence  now,  that 
was  simply  a  movable  section  of  the  wall  panelling — and 
for  an  instant  Jimmie  Dale  experienced  a  sense  of  sicken 
ing  impotence.  It  was  as  though  he  stood  defenceless,  un 
armed,  and  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  some  venomous  power 
that  could  crush  what  it  would  remorselessly  and  at  will  in 
its  might. 

The  place  was  a  veritable  maze,  a  lair  of  hellish  cleverness. 
He  had  no  illusions  now,  he  laboured  under  no  false  estimate 
of  either  the  ingenuity  or  the  resources  of  this  inhuman 
nest  of  vultures  to  whom  murder  was  no  more  than  a  matter 
of  detail.  And  it  was  against  these  men  that  henceforth  he 
was  to  match  his  wits!  There  could  be  no  truce,  no  ar 
mistice.  It  was  their  lives,  or  hers,  or  his!  Well,  he  was 
alive  now,  the  first  round  was  over,  and  so  far  he  had  won. 
His  brows  furrowed  suddenly.  Had  he?  He  was  not  so 
sure,  after  all.  He  was  conscious  of  a  disquieting,  pre 
monitory  intuition  that,  in  some  way  which  he  could  not 
explain,  the  honours  were  not  entirely  his. 

He  was  apparently — the  "  apparently  "  was  a  mental  res 
ervation — quite  alone  in  the  room.  He  got  up  from  the 
couch  and  walked  shakily  across  the  floor  to  the  desk.  A 
revolver  lay  invitingly  upon  the  blotting  pad.  It  was  his 
own,  the  one  they  had  taken  from  him  after  the  accident 
Jimmie  Dale  picked  it  up,  examined  it — and  smiled  a  little 
sarcastically  at  himself  for  his  trouble.  It  was  unloaded. 


THE  INNOCENT  BYSTANDER  353 

of  course.  He  was  twirling  it  in  his  hand,  as  a  man,  masked 
as  every  one  in  the  house  was  masked,  and  carrying  a  neatly 
folded  suit  over  his  arm,  entered  from  the  corridor. 

"  The  car  is  ready  as  soon  as  you  are  dressed,"  announced 
the  other  briefly.  He  .'aul  chs  >:lot'ies  upon  the  couch — and 
settled  himself  significantly  in  a  chair. 

Jimmie  Dale  hesitated.  Then,  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  recrossed  the  room,  arid  began  to  remove  his 
torn  garmenis.  What  was  the  use!  They  would  certainly 
have  their  own  way  in  the  end.  It  wasn't  worth  another 
fight,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  a  refusal  ex 
cept  to  offer  a  sop  to  his  own  exasperation. 

He  dressed  quickly,  in  what  proved  to  be  an  exceedingly 
well-fitting  suit;  and  finally  turned  tentatively  to  the  man 
in  the  chair. 

The  other  stood  up,  and  produced  a  heavy  black  silk, 
scarf. 

"If  you  have  no  objections,"  he  said  curtly,  "  I'll  tie  thir 
over  your  eyes." 

Again  Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  am  glad  enough  to  get  out  on  any  conditions,"  he  an- 
Stt  ered  caustically. 

" '  Fortunate '  would  be  the  better  word,"  rejoined  the 
other  meaningly — and,  deftly  knotting  the  scarf,  led  Jim 
mie  Dale  blindfolded  from  the  room.. 


CHAPTER  V 

ON    GUARD 

1117"  A3  he  in  the  city  ?  In  a  suburban  town  ?  On  a  country 
road  ?  It  seemed  childishly  absurd  that  he  could  not 
at  least  differentiate  to  that  extent ;  and  yet,  from  the  moment 
he  had  been  placed  in  the  automobile  in  which  he  now  found 
himself,  he  was  forced  to  admit  that  he  could  not  tell.  He 
had  started  out  with  the  belief  that,  knowing  New  York 
and  its  surroundings  as  minutely  as  he  knew  them,  it  would 
be  impossible,  do  what  they  would  to  prevent  it,  that  at  the 
end  of  the  journey  he  should  be  without  a  clew,  and  a  very 
good  clew  at  that,  to  the  location  of  what  he  now  called, 
appropriately  enough  it  seemed,  the  Crime  Club. 

But  he  had  never  ridden  blindfolded  in  a  car  before!  He 
could  see  absolutely  nothing.  And  if  that  increased  or  ac 
centuated  his  sense  of  hearing,  it  helped  little — the  roar  of 
the  racing  car  beat  upon  his  eardrums  the  more  heavily, 
that  was  all.  He  could  tell,  of  course,  the  nature  of  the 
roadbed.  They  were  running  on  an  asphalt  road,  that  was 
obvious  enough ;  but  city  streets  and  suburban  streets  and 
hundreds  of  miles  of  country  road  around  New  York  were 
of  asphalt! 

Traffic  ?  He  was  quite  sure,  for  he  had  strained  his  ears 
in  an  effort  to  detect  it,  that  there  was  little  or  no  traffic; 
but  then,  it  must  be  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
at  that  hour  the  city  streets,  certainly  those  that  would  be 
chosen  by  these  men,  would  be  quite  as  deserted  as  any 
country  road !  And  as  for  a  sense  of  direction,  he  had  none 
whatever — even  if  the  car  had  not  been  persistently  swerv- 
ing  and  changing  its  course  every  little  while.  If  he  had 
been  able  to  form  even  an  approximate  idea  of  the  compass 

354 


ON  GUARD  355 

direction  in  which  they  had  started,  he  might  possibly  have 
been  able  in  a  general  way  to  counteract  this  further  effort 
of  theirs  to  confuse  him ;  but  without  the  initial  direction 
he  was  essentially  befogged. 

With  these  conclusions  finally  thrust  home  upon  him, 
Jimmie  Dale  philosophically  subordinated  the  matter  in  his 
mind,  and,  leaning  back,  composed  himself  as  comfortably 
as  he  could  upon  his  seat.  There  was  a  man  beside  him, 
and  he  could  feel  the  legs  of  two  men  on  the  seat  facing  him. 
These,  with  the  driver,  would  make  four.  He  was  still 
well  guarded !  The  car  itself  was  a  closed  car — not  hooded, 
the  sense  of  touch  told  him — therefore  a  limousine  of  some 
description.  These  facts,  in  a  sense  inconsequential,  were 
absorbed  subconsciously;  and  then  Jimmie  Dale's  brain,  re 
morselessly  active,  in  spite  of  the  pain  from  his  throbbing 
head,  was  at  work  again. 

It  seemed  as  though  a  year  had  passed  since,  in  the  earl? 
evening,  as  Larry  the  Bat,  he  had  burrowed  so  ironically 
for  refuge  in  Chang  Foo's  den — from  her!  It  seemed  like 
some  mocking  unreality,  some  visionary  dream  that,  so  short 
a  while  before,  he  had  read  those  words  of  hers  that  had 
sent  the  blood  coursing  and  leaping  through  his  veins  in  mad 
exultation  at  the  thought  that  the  culmination  of  the  year* 
had  come,  that  all  he  longed  for,  hoped  for,  that  all  his  soul 
cried  out  for  was  to  be  his — "  in  an  hour."  An  hour — and 
he  was  to  have  seen  her,  the  woman  whose  face  he  had 
never  seen,  the  woman  whom  he  loved!  And  the  hour  in 
stead,  the  hours  since  then,  had  brought  a  nightmare  of 
events  so  incredible  as  to  seem  but  phantoms  of  the  imagina 
tion. 

Phantoms!  He  sat  up  suddenly  with  a  jerk.  The  face 
of  the  dead  chauffeur,  the  limp  form  lashed  in  that  chair, 
the  horrible  picture  in  its  entirety,  every  detail  standing 
out  in  ghastly  relief,  took  form  before  him.  God  knew  there 
was  no  phantom  there! 

The  man  beside  him,  at  the  sudden  start,  lifted  a  hand 
and  felt  hurriedly  over  the  bandage  across  Jimmie  Dale'* 
eyes. 


856    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALfc 

Jimmie  Dale  was  scarcely  conscious  of  the  act.  With 
that  face  before  him,  with  the  scene  reenacting  itself  in 
his  mind  again,  had  come  another  thought,  staggering  him 
for  a  moment  with  the  new  menace  that  it  brought.  He  had 
had  neither  time  nor  opportunity  to  think  before;  it  had 
been  all  horror,  all  shock  when  he  had  entered  that  room. 
But  now,  like  an  inspiration,  he  saw  it  all  from  another 
angle.  There  was  a  glaring  fallacy  in  the  game  these  men 
had  played  for  his  benefit  to-night — a  fallacy  which  they 
had  counted  on  glossing  over,  as  it  had,  indeed,  been  glossed 
over,  by  the  sudden  shock  with  which  they  had  forced  that 
scene  upon  him ;  or,  failing  in  that,  they  had  count  ^d  on  the 
fact  that  his,  or  any  other  man's  nerve  would  have  failed 
when  it  came  to  open  defiance  based  on  a  supposition  which 
might,  after  all,  be  wrong,  and,  being  wrong,  meant  death. 

But  it  was  not  supposition.  Either  he  was  right  now,  or 
these  men  were  childish,  immature  fools — and,  whatever 
else  they  might  be,  they  were  not  that!  Not  a  single  drop 
of  poison  had  passed  the  chauffeur's  lips.  The  man  had  not 
been  murdered  in  that  room.  He  had  not,  in  a  sense,  been 
murdered  at  all.  The  man,  absolutely,  unquestionably,  with 
out  a  loophole  for  doubt,  had  either  been  killed  outright 
in  the  automobile  accident,  or  had  died  immediately  after 
ward,  probably  without  regaining  consciousness,  certainly 
without  supplying  any  of  the  information  that  was  so  de 
terminedly  sought. 

Yes,  he  saw  it  now !  Their  backs  were  against  the  wall 
they  were  at  their  wits'  end,  these  men!  The  knowledge 
that  the  chauffeur  possessed,  that  they  knew  he  possessed, 
was  evidently  life  and  death  to  them.  To  kill  the  man  be 
fore  they  had  wormed  out  of  him  what  they  wanted  to  know, 
or,  at  least,  until,  by  holding  him  a  prisoner,  they  had  ex 
hausted  every  means  at  their  command  to  make  him  speak, 
was  the  last  thing  they  would  do! 

Jimmie  Dale  sat  for  a  long  time  quite  motionless.  The 
car  was  speeding  at  a  terrific  rate  along  a  straight  stretch 
of  road.  He  could  almost  have  sworn,  guided  by  some 
intuitive  sense,  that  they  were  in  the  country.  Well,  eve* 


ON  GUARD  357 

If  it  were  so,  what  did  that  ptc;.  e  !  They  might  have  started 
from  New  York  itself — only  to  return  to  it  when  they  had 
satisfied  themselves  that  he  was  sufficiently  duped.  Or  they 
might  have  started  legitimately  from  outside  New  York, 
and  be  going  toward  the  city  now.  Since  the  ultimate  desti-, 
nation  was  New  York,  and  they  had  made  no  attempt  to  hide 
that  from  him,  it  was  useless  to  speculate — for  at  best  it 
could  be  only  speculation.  He  had  decided  that  once  before ! 
The  man  at  his  side  felt  again  over  the  scarf  to  see  that  it 
was  in  place. 

Curiously  now  Jimmie  Dale  recalled  the  inward  monitor 
that  had  warned  him  the  honours  had  not  all  been  his  in  this 
first  round  with  the  Crime  Club  to-night.  If  they  had  de 
liberately  murdered  the  chauffeur  because  of  a  refusal  to 
answer,  they  would  equally  have  done  the  same  to  him. 
Fool  that  he  had  been  not  to  have  seen  that  before !  And 
yet  would  it  have  made  any  difference  ?  He  shook  his  head. 
He  could  not  have  acted  to  any  better  advantage  than  he 
had  done.  He  could  not — his  lips  curled  in  grim  derision — 
have  been  any  more  convincing. 

Convincing !  It  was  all  clear  enough  now !  If  the  chauf 
feur  had  suffered  death  rather  than  talk,  even  admitting 
the  fact  that  they  had  more  grounds  for  suspecting  the 
chauffeur's  complicity,  would  his,  Jimmie  Dale's,  mere 
denial,  his  choice,  too,  of  death,  have  been  any  the  more  con 
vincing,  or  have  saved  his  life  where  it  had  not  saved  the 
other's?  A  certain  added  respect  for  these  men,  against 
whom,  until  the  end  now,  his  victory  or  theirs,  he  realised 
he  was  fighting  for  his  life,  came  over  him  as  he  recognised 
the  touch  of  a  master  hand.  They  did  not  know  where  to 
find  the  Tocsin ;  the  package  that  she  had  said  was  vital  to 
them  was  still  beyond  their  reach ;  the  chauffeur  was  dead ; 
and  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  alone  remained — a  clew  that  they  had 
still  to  prove  valid  or  invalid  it  was  true,  but  the  only  clew 
in  their  possession.  And,  gaining  nothing  from  him  by  a 
show  of  force,  to  throw  him  off  his  guard,  they  had  let  him 
go — meaning  him  to  believe  they  were  convinced  he  knew 
nothing,  and  that  the  episode,  the  adventure  of  the  night, 


358    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

was,  as   far  as  they  were  concerned,  ended,  finished,  and 
done  with ! 

Time  passed,  a  very  long  time,  as  he  sat  there.  It  might 
have  been  an  hour — he  could  only  hazard  a  guess.  Not 
one  of  the  men  in  the  car  had  spoken  a  word.  But  to  Jim- 
mie  Dale,  the  car  itself,  the  ride,  its  duration,  these  three 
strange  companions,  were  for  the  time  being  extraneous. 
Even  that  sick  giddiness  in  his  head  had,  at  least  temporarily, 
gone  from  him. 

And  so,  all  unsuspectingly,  he  was  to  lead  them  to  the 
Tocsin  and  fall  into  the  trap  himself !  His  hands,  thrust 
deep  in  his  pockets,  were  tightly  clenched.  They  were 
clever  enough,  ingenious  enough,  powerful  enough  to  watch 
him  henceforth  at  every  turn — and  from  now  on,  day  and 
night,  they  were  to  be  reckoned  with.  Suppose  that  in  some 
way,  as  it  might  well  have  happened,  for  it  was  now  vitally 
necessary  that  she  should  communicate  with  him  and  he 
with  her,  he  had  played  blindly  into  their  hands,  and  through 
him  she  should  have  fallen  into  their  power!  It  brought 
a  sickening  chill,  a  sort  of  hideous  panic  to  Jimmie  Dale — 
and  then  fury,  anger,  in  a  torrent,  surged  upon  him,  and 
there  came  a  merciless  desire  to  crush,  to  strangle,  to  stamp 
out  this  inhuman  band  of  criminals  that,  with  intolerable 
effrontery  to  the  laws  of  God  and  man,  were  so  elaborately 
and  scientifically  equipped  for  their  monstrous  purposes ! 

And  then  Jimmie  Dale,  in  the  darkness,  smiled  again 
grimly  as  the  leader's  reference  to  the  Gray  Seal  recurred 
to  him.  Well,  perhaps,  who  knew,  they  would  have  reason 
more  than  they  dreamed  of  to  wish  the  Gray  Seal  enrolled 
in  their  own  ranks!  It  was  strange,  curious!  He  had 
thought  all  that  was  ended.  Only  a  few  short  hours  before 
he  had  hidden  away  all,  everything  that  was  incident  to  the 
life  of  the  Gray  Seal,  the  clothes  of  Larry  the  Bat,  that 
little  metal  case  with  the  gray-coloured,  adhesive  seals,  a 
dozen  other  things,  believing  that  it  only  remained  for  him 
to  return  and  destroy  them  at  his  leisure  as  a  finishing  touch 
to  the  Gray  Seal's  career — and  now,  instead,  he  was  face  to 
face  with  the  gravest  and  most  dangerous  problem  that  she 
had  ever  called  upon  him  to  undertake ! 


ON  GUARD  359 

Well,  at  least,  the  odds  were  not  all  in  the  Crime  Gub's 
favour.  Where  they  now  certainly  believed  him  to  be  en 
tirely  off  his  guard,  he  was  thoroughly  on  his  guard ;  and 
where  they  might  suspect  him,  watch  him,  they  would  sus 
pect  and  watch  only  the  character,  the  person  of  Jimmie 
Dale,  and  count  not  at  all  upon  either  Larry  the  Bat  or — 
the  Gray  Seal. 

A  sort  of  savage  elation  fell  upon  Jimmie  Dale.  His 
brain,  that  had  been  stagnant,  confused,  physically  sick  with 
pain  and  suffering,  was  working  now  with  its  old-time  vigour 
and  ease,  mapping,  planning,  scheming  the  way  ahead.  To 
strike,  and  strike  quickly — to  strike  first!  It  must  be  his 
tnove  next — not  theirs !  And  he  must  act  to-night  at  once, 
the  moment  he  was  given  this  pretence  to  liberty  that  they 
had  in  store  for  him,  before  they  had  an  opportunity  of 
closing  down  around  him  with  a  network  of  spies  that  he 
could  not  elude.  By  morning,  Jimmie  Dale  would  be  Larry 
the  Bat,  and  inhabiting  the  Sanctuary  again.  And  a  tip 
to  Jason,  his  old  butler,  to  the  effect,  say,  that  he  had  gone 
away  for  a  trip,  would  account  for  his  disappearance  satis 
factorily  enough ;  it  would  not  necessarily  arouse  their 
suspicions  when  they  eventually  discovered  he  was  gone, 
for  against  that  was  always  the  possible,  and  quite  likely, 
presumption  that,  where  they  had  succeeded  in  nothing  else, 
they  had  at  least  succeeded  in  frightening  him  thoroughly 
and  to  the  extent  of  imbuing  him  with  a  hasty  desire  to  put 
a  safe  distance  between  himself  and  them. 

And  now,  with  his  mind  made  up  to  his  course  of  action, 
an  intense  impatience  to  put  his  plan  into  effect,  an  irrita 
tion  at  the  useless  twistings  and  turnings  of  the  car  that 
had  latterly  become  more  frequent,  took  hold  upon  him. 
How  much  longer  was  this  to  last !  They  must  have  been 
fully  an  hour  and  a  half  on  the  road  already,  and — ah, 
the  car  was  stopping  now ! 

He  straightened  up  in  his  seat  as  the  machine  came  to  a 
halt — but  the  man  at  his  side  laid  a  restraining  hand  upon 
him.  The  car  door  opened,  and  one  of  the  men  got  out. 
Emmie  Dale  caught  an  indistinct  murmur  of  voices  from 


860    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

without,  then  the  man  returned  to  his  seat,  and  the  car  went 
on  again. 

Another  half  hour  passed,  that,  curbing  his  irritation  and 
impatience,  was  rilled  with  the  conjectures  and  questions  that 
anew  came  crowding  in  upon  his  mind.  Why  had  the  car 
made  that  stop?  It  was  rather  curious.  It  was  certainly 
a  prearranged  meeting  place.  Why?  And  these  clothes 
that  he  now  wore — why  had  they  made  him  change?  His 
own  had  not  been  very  badly  torn.  The  reason  given  him 
was,  on  the  face  of  it  now,  in  view  of  what  he  now  knew, 
mere  pretence.  What  was  the  ulterior  motive  behind  that 
pretence?  What  did  this  package,  that  had  already  cost 
a  man  his  life  to-night,  contain?  Who  was  the  chauffeur? 
What  was  this  death  feud  between  the  Tocsin  and  these 
men?  Did  she  know  where  the  Crime  Club  was?  Who 
and  where  was  John  Johansson?  What  was  this  box  that 
was  numbered  428?  Could  she  supply  the  links  that  would 
forge  the  chain  into  an  unbroken  whole? 

And  then  for  the  second  time  the  car  slowed  down — and 
this  time  the  man  on  the  seat  beside  Jimmie  Dak  reached 
up  and  untied  the  scarf. 

"  You  get  out  here,"  *aid  the  man  tersely. 


H 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TRAP 

"AD  it  not  been  for  the  stop  the  car  had  previously  made, 
for  the  possibility  that  he  might  have  obtained  a. 
glimpse  outside  when  the  door  had  been  opened,  the  scarf 
over  his  eyes  would  have  been  superfluous ;  for  now,  with  it 
removed,  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  forms  of  vhe  three 
men  around  him,  since  the  window  curtains  of  the  car  were 
tightly  drawn.  Nor  was  he  given  the  opportunity  to  do 
more,  even  had  it  been  possible.  The  car  stopped,  the  door 
was  opened,  he  was  pushed  toward  it — and  even  as  he 
reached  the  ground,  the  door  was  closed  behind  him,  and 
ute  car  was  speeding  on  again.  But  where  he  could  not  see 
before,  it  took  now  but  a  glance  to  obtain  his  bearings- 
he  was  standing  on  a  corner  on  Riverside  Drive,  within 
a  few  doors  of  his  own  house. 

Jimmie  Dale  stood  still  for  a  moment,  watching  the  car 
as  it  disappeared  rapidly  up  the  Drive.  And  with  a  sort  of 
grim  facetiousness  his  brain  began  to  correlate  time  and 
distance.  Where  had  he  come  from?  Where  was  this 
Crime  Club?  They  had  been,  as  nearly  as  he  could  esti 
mate,  twc  hours  in  making  the  journey ;  and,  as  nearly  as 
he  could  estimate,  in  truir  turnings  and  twistings  had  covered 
at  least  twice  the  distance  that  would  be  represented  by  a 
direct  route.  Granting,  then,  an  average  speed  of  forty 
miles  an  hour,  which  was  overgenerous  to  be  on  the  safe 
side,  and  the  fact  that  they  certainly  had  not  crossed  the 
Hudson,  which  now  lay  before  him,  flanking  the  Drive,  the 
Crime  Club  was  somewhere  within  the  area  of  a  semicircle, 
whose  centre  was  the  corner  on  which  he  now  stood,  and 
•whose  radius  was  forty  miles — or  forty  yards!  He  forced 

361 


362    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

a  laugh.  It  was  just  that,  no  more,  no  less — he  was  as  likely 
to  have  started  on  his  ride  from  within  a  biscuit  throw  of 
where  he  now  stood,  as  to  have  started  on  it  from  miles 
away! 

But — he  aroused  himself  with  ?»  start — he  was  wasting 
time!  It  must  be  very  late,  near  morning,  and  he  would 
have  need  for  every  moment  that  was  left  between  now  and 
daylight.  He  turned,  walked  quickly  to  his  house,  mounted 
the  steps,  and  with  his  latch-key — they  had  at  least  permitted 
him  to  retain  the  contents  of  his  pockets  when  they  had  forced 
him  to  change  his  clothes — opened  the  front  door  softly,, 
and,  stepping  inside,  closed  the  door  as  silently  as  he  had 
opened  it. 

He  paused  for  an  instant  to  listen.  There  was  not  a  sound. 
The  servants,  naturally,  would  have  been  in  bed  hours  ago. 
Even  old  Jason — Jimmie  Dale  smiled,  half  whimsically,  half 
affectionately — whose  paternal  custom  it  was  to  sit  up  for 
his  Master  Jim,  who,  as  he  was  fond  of  saying,  he  had 
dandled  as  a  baby  on  his  knee,  had  evidently  given  it  up  as 
a  bad  job  on  this  occasion  and  had  turned  in  himself.  Jason, 
however,  had  left  the  light  burning  here  in  the  big  reception 
hall. 

Jimmie  Dale  stepped  to  the  switch  and  turned  off  the 
light ;  then  stood  hesitant  in  the  darkness.  Was  there  any 
thing  to  be  gained  by  rousing  Jason  now  and  telling  him  what 
he  intended  to  do — to  instruct  him  to  answer  any  inquiries 
by  the  statement  that  "  Mr.  Dale  had  gone  away  for  a 
trip  "  ?  He  could  trust  Jason ;  Jason  already  knew  much- 
more  than  one  of  those  mysterious  letters  of  the  Tocsin's 
had  passed  through  Jason's  hands. 

Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head.  No ;  he  could  communicate 
with  Jason  from  downtown  in  the  morning.  He  had  half 
expected  to  find  Jason  up,  and,  in  that  case,  would  have 
taken  the  other,  as  far  as  necessary,  into  his  confidence ;  but 
it  was  not  a  matter  that  pressed  for  the  moment.  He  could 
get  into  touch  with  Jason  at  any  time  readily  enough.  Was 
there  anything  else  before  he  went?  He  would  not  be  able 
to  get  back  as  easily  as  he  got  out!  Mowy!  He  shoot 


THE  TRAP  363 

his  head  again — a  little  grimly  this  time.  He  had  been 
caught  once  before  as  Larry  the  Bat  without  funds !  There 
was  plenty  of  money  now  hidden  in  the  Sanctuary,  enough 
for  any  emergency,  enough  to  last  him  indefinitely. 

He  stepped  forward  along  the  hall,  his  tread  noiseless  on 
the  rich,  heavy  rug,  passed  into  the  rear  of  the  house, 
descended  the  back  stairs,  and  reached  the  cellar.  It  was 
below  the  level  of  the  ground,  of  course;  but  a  narrow 
window  here,  though  quite  large  enough  to  permit  of  egress, 
gave  on  the  driveway  at  the  side  of  the  house  that  led  to 
the  garage  in  the  rear. 

Cautiously  now,  for  the  cement  flooring  was,  in  the  still 
ness,  little  less  than  a  sounding  board,  Jimmie  Dale  reached 
the  wall  and  felt  along  it  to  the  window,  the  lower  edge  of 
whose  sill  was  just  slightly  below  the  level  of  his  shoulder. 
It  opened  inward,  if  he  remembered  correctly.  His  fingers 
were  feeling  for  the  fastenings.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  a 
thing.  He  muttered  in  annoyance.  Where  were  the  fasten 
ings  !  At  the  sides,  or  at  the  bottom  ?  His  hand  began  to 
make  a  circuit  of  the  sill — and  then  suddenly,  with  a  lowt 
sharp  cry,  he  leaned  forward ! 

W 'hat  did  this  mean?  Wires!  No  wires  had  ever  been 
there  before !  His  fingers  were  working  now  with  feverish 
haste,  telegraphing  their  message  to  his  brain.  The  wires 
ran  through  the  sill  close  to  the  corner  of  the  wall — tiny 
fragments  of  wood,  as  from  an  auger,  were  still  on  the  sill — • 
and  here  was  a  small  particle  of  wire  insulation  that,  those 
sensitive  finger  tips  proclaimed,  was  fresh. 

A  cold  thrill  ran  through  Jimmie  Dale ;  and  there  came 
again  that  sickening  sense  of  impotency  in  the  face  of  the 
malignant,  devilish  cunning  arrayed  against  him,  that  once 
before  be  had  experienced,  that  night.  He  had  thought  to 
forestall  them — and  he  had  been  forestalled  himself !  This 
could  only  have  been  done — they  had  had  no  interest  in  him 
before  thett- — while  they  held  him  at  the  Crime  Club,  while 
he  was  spending  that  two  hours  in  the  car !  Was  that  why 
they  had  takeo  so  long  in  coming?  Was  that  why  the  car 
had  stop>»«d  thM  time — that  those  with  him  might  be  told 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

that  the  work  here  had  been  completed,  and  he  need  nejs 
longer  be  kept  away? 

He  edged  away  from  the  window,  and,  as  cautiously  as  he 
had  come,  retraced  his  steps  across  the  cellar  and  up  the 
stairs — and  then,  the  possibility  of  being  heard  from  with 
out  gone,  he  broke  into  a  run.  There  was  no  need  to  wonder 
long  what  those  wires  meant.  They  could  mean  only  one 
of  two  things — and  the  Crime  Club  would  have  little  concern 
in  his  electric  light!  They  had  tapped  his  telephone.  The 
mains,  he  knew,  ran  into  the  cellar  from  the  underground 
service  in  the  street.  He  was  racing  like  a  madman  now. 
How  long  ago,  how  many  hours  ago,  had  they  done  that! 
Great  Scott,  she  was  to  have  telephoned !  Had  she  done  so  ? 
Was  the  game,  all,  everything,  she  herself,  at  their  mercy 
already?  If  she  had  telephoned,  Jason  would  have  left  a 
message  on  his  desk — he  would  look  there  first — afterward 
he  would  waken  Jason. 

He  gained  the  door  of  his  den  on  the  first  landing,  a.  room 
that  ran  the  entire  length  of  one  side  of  the  house  from 
front  to  rear,  burst  in,  switched  on  the  light — and  stood 
stock-still  in  amazement. 

"  Jason !  "  he  cried  out. 

The  old  butler,  fully  dressed,  rubbing  and  blinking  his 
eyes  at  the  light,  and  with  a  startled  cry,  rose  up  from  the 
•depths  of  a  lounging  chair. 

"  Jason !  "  exclaim* jd  Jimmie  Dale  again. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  Master  Jim,"  stammered  the  man, 
"  I — I  must  have  fallen  asleep,  sir." 

"  Jason,  what  are  you  doing  here  ? "  Jimmie  Dale  de 
manded  sharply. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Jason,  still  fumbling  for  his  words,  "  it— « 
Jt  was  the  telephone,  sir." 

"  The— telephone !" 

"  Yes,  sir.  A  woman,  begging  your  pardon,  Master  Jim, 
a  lady,  sir,  has  been  telephoning  every  hour  or  so,  and 
she " 

"  Yes!"  Jimmie  Dale  had  jumped  across  the  room  and 
had  caught  the  other  fiercely  by  the  shoulder.  "  Yes — yes ! 
What  did  she  say  ?  Quick,  man  I " 


THE  TRAP  365 

"Good  Lord,  Master  Jim!"  faltered  Jason.  "  I— 
jhe " 

"  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  suddenly  as  cold  as  ice,  "  what 
did  she  say  ?  Think,  man !  Every  word !  " 

"  She  didn't  say  anything,  Master  Jim.  Nothing  at  all, 
sir — except  to  keep  asking  each  time  if  she  could  speak  to 
you." 

"  Nothing  else,  Jason  ?  " 

i  No,  sir." 

"  You  are  sure?  " 

"  I'm  sure,  Master  Jim.  Not  another  thing  but  that,  sir, 
just  as  I've  told  you." 

"  Thank  God !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  a  low  voice. 

*'  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jason  mechanically. 

"  How  long  ago  was  it  since  she  telephoned  last  ?  "  asked 
Jimmie  Dale  quickly. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  couldn't  rightly  say.  You  see,  as  I  said, 
Master  Jim,  I  must  have  gone  to  sleep,  but " 

They  were  staring  tensely  into  each  other's  face.  The 
telephone  on  the  desk  was  ringing  vibrantly,  clamourously, 
through  the  stillness  of  the  room. 

Jason,  white,  frightened,  bewildered,  touched  his  lips  with 
the  tip  of  his  tongue. 

"  That'll  be  her  again,  sir,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"  Wait !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  tersely. 

He  was  trying  to  think,  to  think  faster  than  he  had  ever 
thought  before.  He  could  not  tell  Jason  to  say  that  he  had 
not  yet  come  in — they  knew  he  was  in,  it  would  be  but  show 
ing  his  hand  to  that  "  some  one  "  who  would  be  listening 
now  on  the  wire.  He  dared  not  speak  to  her,  or,  above  all, 
allow  her  to  expose  herself  by  a  single  inadvertent  word. 
He  dared  not  speak  to  her — and  she  was  here  now,  calling 
him!  He  could  not  speak  to  her — and  it  was  life  and  death 
almost  that  she  should  know  what  had  happened;  life  and 
death  almost  for  both  of  them  that  he  should  know  all  and 
everything  she  could  tell  him.  True,  it  would  take  but  a 
minute  to  run  to  the  cellar  and  cut  those  wires,  while  Jason 
held  her  on  the  pretence  of  calling  him,  Jimmie  Dale,  to  the 


366    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

'phone;  only  a  minute  to  cut  those  wires — and  in  so 
doing  advertise  to  these  fiends  the  fact  that  he  had  dis 
covered  their  trick ;  admit,  as  though  in  so  many  words, 
that  their  suspicions  of  him  were  justified ;  lay  himself  open 
to  some  new  move  that  he  could  not  hope  to  foresee;  and, 
paramount  to  all  else,  rob  her  and  himself  of  this  master 
trump  the  Crime  Club  had  placed  in  his  hands,  by  means  of 
which  there  was  a  chance  that  he  could  hoist  them  with  their 
own  petard ! 

The  telephone  rang  again — imperatively,  persistently. 

"Listen,  Jason."  Jimmie  Dale  was  speaking  rapidly, 
earnestly.  "  Say  that  I've  come  in  and  have  gone  to  bed — 
in  a  vile  humour.  That  you  told  me  a  lady  had  been  calling, 
but  that  I  said  if  she  called  again  I  wasn't  to  be  disturbed  if 
it  was  the  Queen  of  Sheba  herself — that  I  wouldn't  answer 
any  'phone  to-night  for  anybody.  Do  you  understand  ?  No 
argument  with  her — just  that.  Now,  answer!" 

Jason  lifted  the  reciever  from  the  hook. 

"  Yes — hello !  "  he  said.  "  Yes,  ma'am,  Mr.  Dale  has  com© 
in,  but  he  has  retired.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  told  him;  but,  begging 
your  pardon,  ma'am,  he  was  in  what  I  might  say  was  a  bit  of 
a  temper,  and  said  he  wasn't  to  be  disturbed  by  any  one." 

Jimmie  Dale  snatched  the  receiver  from  Jason,  and  put  it 
to  his  own  ear. 

"  Kindly  tell  Mr.  Dale  that  unless  he  comes  to  the  'phone 
now,"  a  feminine  voice,  her  voice,  in  well-simulated  indigna 
tion,  was  saying,  "  it  will  be  a  very  long  day  before  I  shall 
trouble  myself  to " 

Jimmie  Dale  clapped  his  hand  firmly  over  the  mouthpiece 
of  the  instrument.  Thank  God  for  that  clever  brain  of  hers ! 
She  understood ! 

"  Repeat  what  you  said  before,  Jason,"  he  instructed  hur 
riedly.  "  Then  say  '  Good-night.'  " 

He  removed  his  hand  from  the  mouthpiece. 

"  It's  quite  useless,  ma'am,"  said  Jason  apologetically.  "  In 
the  rare  temper  he  was  in,  he  wouldn't  come,  to  use  his  own 
words,  ma'am,  not  for  the  Queen  of  Sheba  herself,  ma'am. 
Good-night,  ma'am." 


THE  TRAP  367 

Jimmie  Dale  hung  the  receiver  back  on  the  hook — and 
with  his  hand  flirted  away  a  bead  of  moisture  that  had 
sprung  to  his  forehead. 

"  Good  Lord,  Master  Jim,  what's  wrong,  sir?  What's 
happened,  sir?  And — and  those  clothes,  Master  Jim,  sir! 
They  aren't  the  ones  you  went  out  in,  sir — they  aren't  yours 
at  all,  sir !  "  Jason  ventured  anxiously. 

"  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  "  switch  off  the  light,  and  go 
to  the  front  window  and  look  out.  Keep  well  behind  the 
curtains.  Don't  show  yourself.  Tell  me  if  you  see  any 
thing." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jason  obediently. 

The  light  went  out.  Jimmie  Dale  moved  to  the  rear  of 
the  room — to  the  window  overlooking  the  garage  and  yard, 

"  I  don't  see  anything,  sir,"  Jason  called. 

"  Watch !  "  Jimmie  Dale  answered. 

A  minute  passed — two — three.  Jimmie  Dale  was  staring 
down  into  the  black  of  the  yard.  She  understood!  She 
knew,  of  course,  before  she  'phoned  that  something  had  gone 
wrong  to-night.  She  knew  that  only  peril  of  the  gravest 
moment  would  have  kept  him  from  the  'phone — and  her. 
She  knew  now,  as  a  logical  conclusion,  that  it  was  dangerous 
to  attempt  to  communicate  with  him  at  his  home.  Those 
wires !  Where  did  they  lead  to  ?  Not  far  away — that  would 
be  almost  a  mechanical  impossibility.  Was  it  into  the  Crime 
Club  itself — near  at  hand?  Or  the  basement,  say,  of  that 
apartment  house  across  the  driveway  ?  Or — where  ? 

And  then  Jimmie  Dale  spoke  again: 

"  Do  you  see  anything,  Jason  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure,  sir,"  Jason  answered  hesitantly.  *  1 
thought  I  saw  a  man  move  behind  a  tree  out  there  across 
the  road  a  minute  ago,  sir.  Yes,  sir — there  he  is  again ! '" 

There  was  a  thin,  mirthless  smile  on  Jimmie  Dale's  lips 

Below,  in  the  shadow  of  the  garage,  a  dark  form,  like  a 
deeper  shadow,  stirred — and  was  still  again. 

"  What  time  is  it,  Jason  ?  "  Jimmie  Dale  asked  presently* 

"  It'll  be  about  half-past  four,  sir." 


86«    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Go  to  bed,  Jason." 

"Yes,  sir;  but" — Jason's  voice,  low,  troubled,  came 
through  the  darkness  from  the  upper  end  of  the  room—* 
"Master  Jim,  sir,  I " 

"  Go  to  bed,  Jason — and  not  a  word  of  this." 

"  Yes,  sir.    Good-night,  Master  Jim." 

"  Good-night,  Jason." 

Jimmie  Dale  groped  his  way  to  the  big  lounging  chair 
In  which  he  had  found  Jason  asleep,  and  flung  himself  into 
it.  They  had  struck  quickly,  these  ingenious,  dress-suited 
murderers  of  the  Crime  Club!  The  house  was  already 
watched,  would  be  watched  now  untiringly,  unceasingly; 
not  a  movement  of  his  henceforth  but  would  be  under  their 
eyes ! 

Kis  hands,  resting  on  the  arms  of  the  chair,  closed  slowly 
until  they  became  tight-clenched,  knotted  fists.  What  wa3 
he  to  do?  It  was  not  only  the  Crime  Club,  it  was  not  only 
the  Tocsin  and  her  peril — there  was  the  underworld  snap 
ping  and  snarling  at  his  heels,  there  was  the  police,  dogged 
and  sullen,  ever  on  the  trail  of  the  Gray  Seal!  His  life, 
even  before  this,  in  his  fight  against  the  underworld  and  the 
police,  had  depended  upon  his  freedom  of  action — and  now, 
at  one  and  the  same  time,  that  freedom  was  cut  away  from 
beneath  his  feet,  as  it  were,  and  a  third  foe,  equally  as  deadly 
as  the  others,  was  added  to  the  list ! 

For  months,  to  preserve  and  sustain  the  character  of  Larry 
the  Bat,  he  had  been  forced  to  assume  the  role  almost  daily ; 
for,  in  that  sordid  empire  below  the  dead  line,  whose  one 
common  bond  and  aim  was  the  Gray  Seal's  death,  where 
suspicion,  one  of  the  other,  was  rampant  and  extravagant, 
where  each  might  be  the  one  against  whom  all  swore  their 
vengeance,  Larry  the  Bat  could  not  mysteriously  disappear 
from  his  accustomed  haunts  without  inviting  suspicion  in 
an  active  and  practical  form — an  inquisitorial  visit  to  his 
squalid  lodgings,  the  Sanctuary — and  the  end  of  Larry  the 
Bat! 

If,  as  he  had  thought  only  a  few  hours  before,  he  waff 


THE  TRAP  369 

through  forever  with  his  dual  life,  that  would  not  have  mat 
tered,  the  underworld  would  have  been  welcome  to  make 
what  it  chose  of  it — but  now  the  preservation  of  the  char 
acter  of  Larry  the  Bat  was  more  vital  and  necessary  to  him 
than  it  had  ever  been  before.  It  as  a  means  of  defense 
and  offense  against  these  men  who  lurked  now  outside  his 
doors.  It  was  the  sole  means  now  of  communication  with 
her;  for,  warned  both  by  Jason's  words,  and  what  must  be 
an  obvious  fact  to  her,  that  their  plans  had  miscarried,  that 
it  was  dangerous  to  communicate  with  him  as  Jimmie  Dale, 
she  would  expect  him,  count  on  him  to  make  that  move. 
There  would  be  no  longer  either  reason  or  attempt  on  her 
part  to  maintain  the  mystery  with  which  she  had  heretofore 
surrounded  herself,  the  crisis  had  come,  she  would  be  watch 
ing,  waiting,  hoping,  seeking  for  him  more  anxiously  and 
with  far  more  at  stake  than  he  had  ever  sought  for  her — 
until  now! 

He  got  up  impulsively  from  his  chair,  and,  in  the  black 
ness,  began  to  pace  the  room.  The  next  move  was  clear, 
pitifully  clear;  it  had  been  clear  from  the  first,  it  had  been 
clear  even  in  that  ride  in  the  car — it  was  so  clear  that  it 
seemed  veritably  to  mock  him  as  he  prodded  his  brains  for 
some  means  of  putting  it  into  execution.  He  must  get  to 
the  Sanctuary,  become  Larry  the  B?t--*iut  how?  How! 
The  question  seemed  at  last  to  become  xoonant,  to  ring 
through  the  room  with  the  weight  of  doom  upon  it. 

Schemes,  plans,  ideas  came,  bringing  a  momentary  uplift 
— only  to  be  discarded  the  next  instant  with  a  sort  of  bitter, 
desperate  regret.  These  men  were  not  men  of  mere  ordi 
nary  intelligence ;  their  cleverness,  their  power,  the  amazing 
scope  of  their  organisation,  all  bore  grim  witness  to  the  fact 
that  they  would  be  blinded  not  at  all  by  any  paltry  ruse. 

He  could  walk  out  of  the  house  in  the  morning  as  Jim 
mie  Dale  without  apparent  hindrance — that  was  obvious 
enough.  And  so  long  as  he  pursued  the  usual  avocations 
of  Jimmie  Dale,  he  would  not  be  interfered  with — only 
watched.  It  was  useless  to  consider  that  plan  for  a  moment. 


370    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALtt 

It  would  not  help  him  to  reach  the  Sanctuary — without  lead 
ing  them  there  behind  him!  True,  there  was  always  the 
chance  that  he  might  shake  them  off  his  trail,  but  he  could 
hardly  hope  to  accomplish  anything  like  that  without  their 
knowing  that  it  was  done  deliberately — and  that  he  dared 
not  risk.  The  strongest  weapon  in  his  hands  now  was  his 
secret  knowledge  that  he  was  being  watched. 

That  telephone  there,  for  instance,  that  most  curiously  kept 
on  insisting  in  his  mind  that  it,  and  it  alone  was  the  way  out, 
was  the  last  thing  he  could  place  in  jeopardy.  Besides, 
there  was  another  reason  why  such  a  plan  would  not  do ;  for, 
granting  even  that  he  succeeded  in  eluding  them  on  the  wayt 
and  managed  to  reach  the  Sanctuary,  his  freedom  of  action 
would  be  so  restricted  and  limited  as  to  be  practically  worth 
less — he  would  have  to  return  to  his  home  here  again  within 
a  reasonable  time  as  Jimmie  Dale,  within  a  few  hours  at 
most — or  again  they  would  be  in  possession  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  discovered  their  surveillance. 

That,  it  was  true,  had  been  his  original  plan  when  he  had 
entered  the  house  half  an  hour  previously,  but  it  was  an  en 
tirely  different  matter  now.  Then,  he  had  counted  on 
getting  away  without  their  knowing  it,  before  they,  as  he 
had  fondly  thought,  would  have  had  a  chance  to  establish 
their  espionage,  and  when  they  would  have  had  no  reason 
to  suspect,  for  a  time  at  least,  that  he  was  not  still  within 
the  house,  when  they  would  have  been  watching,  as  it  were, 
an  empty  cage. 

He  stopped  in  his  walk,  and,  after  a  moment,  dropped 
down  into  the  lounging  chair  again.  That  was  it,  of  course. 
An  empty  cage!  If  he  could  escape  from  the  house!  Not 
so  much  without  their  seeing  him ;  that  was  more  or  less 
3.  mechanical  detail.  But  escape — and  leave  them  in  posses 
sion  of  a  sort  of  guarantee  or  assurance  that  he  was  still 
there !  That  would  give  him  the  freedom  of  action  that  he 
must  have.  He  smiled  with  bitter  irony.  That  solved 
the  problem!  That  was  all  there  was  to  it — just  that!  It 
was  very  simple,  exceedingly  simple;  it  was  only — impos 
sible  I 


THE  TRAP  871 

The  smile  left  his  lips,  and  once  more  his  hanua  clenched 
fiercely.  No;  it  was  not  impossible!  It  must  be  done — if 
he  was  to  win  through,  if  he  was  even  to  save  himself !  It 
must  be  done — or  jaV  her  t  Tt  rould  be  done ;  there  was  a 
way — if  he  could  only  sec  iti 


CHAFf ER  VU 

THE  "  HOUR  ** 

AS  the  minutes  passed,  many  of  them,  Jimmie  Dale  sat 
*"*•  there  motionless,  staring  before  him  at  the  desk  that 
was  faintly  outlined  in  the  unlighted  room.  Then  some 
where  in  the  house  a  clock  struck  the  hour.  Five  o'clock! 
He  raised  his  head.  Yes!  It  could  be  done !  There  was  a 
way !  He  had  the  germ  of  it  now.  And  now  the  plan  be 
gan  to  grow,  to  take  form  and  shape  in  his  mind,  to  dove, 
tail,  to  knit  the  integral  parts  into  a  comprehensive  whole. 
There  was  a  way — but  he  must  have  assistance.  Jason- 
yes,  assuredly.  Benson,  his  chauffeur — yes,  equally  as  trust 
worthy  as  Jason.  Benson  was  devoted  to  him ;  and  moreover 
Benson  was  young,  alert,  daring,  cool.  He  had  had  more 
than  one  occasion  to  test  Benson's  resourcefulness  and 
nerve ! 

Jimmie  Dale  rose  abruptly,  went  to  the  rear  window,  and, 
parting  the  curtains  cautiously,  stood  peering  down  into  the 
courtyard.  Yes,  it  was  feasible;  even  a  little  more  than 
feasible.  The  garage  fronted  the  driveway,  of  course,  to 
give  free  entrance  and  egress  to  the  cars,  but  where  the  wall 
of  the  garage  and  the  rear  wall  of  the  house  overlapped,  as 
it  were,  the  space  between  them  was  not  much  more  than 
ten  yards :  and  here  the  shadows  of  the  two  walls,  mingling, 
lay  like  a  black,  impenetrable  pathway — not  like  that  other 
shadow  he  had  seen  moving  at  the  side  of  the  garage,  and 
that,  if  not  for  the  moment  discernible,  was  none  the  less 
surely  still  lurking  there ! 

Satisfied,  Jimmie  Dale  swung  briskly  from  the  window, 
and,  going  now  to  his  bedroom  across  the  hall,  undressed 
and  went  to  bed — but  not  to  sleep.  There  would  be  time 

372 


THE  "HOUR"  373 

enough  to  sleep,  all  day,  if  he  wished ;  now,  there  were  still 
the  little  details  to  be  thought  out  that,  more  than  anything 
else,  could  make  or  wreck  his  plans.  A  point  overdone,  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  a  false  note  where  men  of  the  calibre 
of  those  against  whom  he  was  now  fighting  for  his  life  were 
concerned,  would  not  only  make  his  scheme  abortive,  but 
would  place  him  utterly  at  their  mercy. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  he  rang  for  Jason. 

"  Jason,"  he  said  abruptly,  as  the  other  entered,  "  I  want 
you  to  telephone  for  Doctor  Merlin  " 

"  The  doctor,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man  anxiously. 
**  You're — you're  not  ill,  Master  Jim,  sir  ?  " 

"  Do  I  look  ill,  Jason  ?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale  gravely. 

"  Well,  sir,"  admitted  Jason,  in  concern ;  "  a  bit  done  up, 
sir,  perhaps.  A  little  pale,  sir ;  though  I'm  sure " 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  sitting  up  io 
bed.  "  The  worse  I  look,  the  better !  " 

"  I — I  beg  pardon,  sir?"  stammered  Jason. 

"  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  gravely  again,  "  you  have  had 
reason  to  know  that  on  several  occasions  my  life  has  been 
threatened.  It  is  threatened  now.  You  know  from  last 
night  that  this  house  is  now  watched.  You  may,  cr  you  may 
not  have  surmised — that  our  telephone  wires  have  beer 
tapped." 

"  Tapped,  sir!  " — Jason's  face  had  gone  a  little  gray. 

"  Yes ;  a  party  line,  so  to  speak,"  said  Jimmie  Dale 
grimly.  "  Do  you  understand  ?  You  must  be  careful  to 
say  no  more,  no  less  than  exactly  what  I  tell  you  to  say. 
Now  go  and  telephone!  Ask  the  doctor  to  come  over  and 
see  me  this  morning.  Simply  say  that  I  am  not  feeling 
well;  but  that,  apart  from  being  apparently  in  a  very  ner 
vous  condition,  you  do  not  know  what  is  the  matter." 

"  Yes,  sir — good  Lord,  sir !  "  gasped  Jason — and  left  the 
room  to  carry  out  his  orders. 

An  hour  later,  Doctor  Merlin  had  been  and  gone — and 
had  left  two  prescriptions ;  one  written,  the  other  verbal. 
With  the  written  one,  Benson,  in  his  chauffeur's  livery,  was 
dispatched  to  the  drug  store;  the  verbal  one  was  precisely 


374    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

what  Jimmie  Dale  had  expected  from  the  fussy  old  family 
physician :  "  Two  or  three  days  of  quiet  in  the  house, 
James ;  and  if  you  need  me  again,  let  me  know." 

"  Now,  Jason,"  said  Jimmie  Dale,  when  the  old  man  had 
returned  from  ushering  Doctor  Merlin  from  the  house, 
"  our  friends  out  there  will  be  anxious  to  learn  the  verdict. 
I  was  to  dine  with  the  Ross-Hendersons  to-morrow  night, 
was  I  not  ? " 

*"Yes,  sir;  I  think  so,  sir." 

"  Make  sure !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Look  in  my  engage 
ment  book  there  on  the  table." 

Jason  looked. 

"  Yes,  sir,  that's  right,"  he  announced. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  softly.  "  Now  go  and 
telephone  again,  Jason.  Present  my  regrets  and  excusea 
to  the  Ross-Hendersons,  and  say  that  under  the  doctor's 
orders  I  am  confined  to  the  house  for  the  next  few  days— 
and,  Jason!  " 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"  When  Benson  returns  with  the  medicine  let  him  bring 
it  here  himself — and  I  shall  want  you  as  well." 

Jimmie  Dale  propped  himself  up  a  little  wearily  on  the 
pillows,  as  Jason  went  out  of  the  room.  After  all,  his 
condition  was  not  entirely  feigned.  He  was,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  pretty  well  played  out,  both  mentally  and  physically. 
Certainly,  that  he  should  require  a  doctor  and  be  confined 
to  the  house  could  not  arouse  suspicion  even  in  the  minds 
of  those  alert,  aristocratic  thugs  of  the  Crime  Club,  prone 
as  they  would  be  to  suspect  anything — a  man  who  had  been 
knocked  unconscious  in  an  automobile  smash  the  night  be 
fore,  had  been  in  a  fight,  had  been  subjected  to  a  terrific 
mental  shock,  to  say  nothing  of  the  infernal  drug  that  had 
been  administered  to  him,  might  well  be  expected  to  be 
indisposed  the  next  morning,  and  for  several  mornings  fol 
lowing  that !  It  might,  indeed,  even  cause  them  to  relax 
their  vigilance  for  the  time  being — though  he  dared  build 
nothing  on  that.  Well,  he  had  only  to  coach  Benson  and 


THE  "HOUR" 

Jason  in  the  parts  they  were  to  play,  and  the  balance  of  the 
morning  and  all  the  afternoon  was  his  in  which  to  rest. 

He  reached  ever  to  the  table,  picked  up  a  pencil  and  paper, 
and  began  to  jot  down  memoranda.  He  had  just  tossed  the 
pencil  back  on  the  table  as  the  two  men  entered. 

Jason,  at  a  sign,  closed  the  door  quietly. 

Jimmie  Dale  looked  at  Benson  half  musingly,  half  whim 
sically,  for  a  moment  before  he  spoke. 

"  Benson,"  he  said,  "  the  back  seat  of  the  large  touring  car 
is  hinged  and  lifts  up,  once  the  cushion  is  removed,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Benson  answered  promptly. 

"  And  there's  space  enough  for,  say,  a  man  inside,  isn  t 
there?" 

"  Why,  yes,  sir ;  I  suppose  so — at  a  squeeze  " — Benson 
stared  blankly. 

"  Quite  so !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale  calmly.  "  Now,  anothei 
matter,  Benson :  I  believe  some  chauffeurs  have  a  habit, 
when  occasion  lends  itself,  of  taking,  shall  we  say,  theii! 
1  best  girl  *  out  riding  in  their  masters'  machines  ?  " 

"  Some  might,"  Benson  replied,  a  little  stiffly.  "  I  hope 
jrou  don't  think,  sir,  that " 

"  One  moment,  Benson.  The  point  is,  it's  done — quite 
generally  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  have  a  '  best  girl/  or  at  least  could  find  one  fof 
*uch  a  purpose,  if  you  were  so  inclined? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Benson ;  "  but " 

"  Very  good !  "  Jimmie  Dale  interrupted.  "  Then  to 
night,  Benson,  taking  advantage  of  my  illness,  and  to-mor 
row  night,  and  the  nights  after  that  until  further  notice,  you 
Will  acquire  and  put  into  practice  that  reprehensible  habit." 

"  I— I  don't  understand,  Mr.  Dale." 

"  No ;  I  dare  say  not,"  said  Jimmie  Dale — and  then  the 
whimsicality  dropped  from  him.  "  Benson,"  he  said  slowly, 
*  do  you  remember  a  night,  nearly  four  years  ago,  the  first 
night  you  ever  saw  me?  You  had,  indiscreetly,  I  think; 


876    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

displayed  more  money  than  was  wise  in  that  East  Side  neigh 
bourhood.* 

*  I  remember,"  said  Benson,  with  a  sudden  start;  theft 
simply '.  "  I  wouldn't  be  here  now,  sir,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you  " 

"  Well,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  quietly,  "  the  tables  are  turned 
to-day,  Benson.  As  Jason  already  knows,  this  house  is 
watched.  For  reasons  that  I  cannot  explain,  I  am  in  great 
danger.  Bluntly,  I  am  putting  my  life  in  your  hands — and 
Jason's. 

Benson  looked  for  an  instant  from  Jimmie  Dale  to  Jason, 
caught  the  strained,  troubled  expression  on  the  old  man's 
face,  then  back  again  at  Jimmie  Dale. 

*'  D'ye  mean  that,  sir !  "  he  cried.  "  Then  you  can  count 
on  me,  Mr.  Dale,  to  the  last  ditch !  " 

"  I  know  that,  Benson,"  Jimmie  Dale  said  softly.  "  And 
now,  both  of  you,  listen !  It  is  imperative  that  I  should  get 
away  from  the  house ;  and  equally  imperative  that  those 
watching  should  believe  that  I  am  still  here.  Not  even 
the  servants  are  to  be  permitted  a  suspicion  that  I  am  not 
here  in  my  bed,  ill.  That,  Jason,  is  your  task.  You  will 
allow  no  one  to  wait  on  me  but  yourself ;  you  will  bring  the 
meal  trays  up  regularly — and  eat  the  food  yourself.  You 
will  answer  all  inquiries,  telephone  and  otherwise,  in  per- 
son — I  am  not  seeing  any  one.  You  understand  perfectlys 
Jason  ? " 

"  I  understand,  Master  Jim.  You  need  have  no  fear,  sir, 
on  that  score." 

"  Now,  you,  Benson,"  Jimmie  Dale  went  on.  "  A  few 
minutes  ago  I  sent  you  out  in  your  chauffeur's  togs  with 
that  prescription.  You  were  undoubtedly  observed.  I 
wanted  you  to  be.  It  was  quite  necessary  that  they  should 
know  and  be  able  to  recognise  you  again — to  disabuse  their 
m;nds  later  on  of  the  possibility  that  I  might  be  masquerad 
ing  in  your  clothes;  and  also,  of  course,  that  they  should 
know  who  you  were,  and  what  your  position  was  in  the  house 
hold.  Very  well !  To-night,  at  eight  o'clock  exactly,  you  are 
to  go  out  from  the  back  door  of  the  house  to  the  garage 


THE  "HOUR"  87f 

On  the  way  out — it  will  be  quite  dark  then — I  want  you  to 
drop  something,  say,  a  bunch  of  keys  that  you  had  been 
jingling  in  your  hand.  You  are  to  experience  some  diffi 
culty  in  rinding  it  again,  move  about  a  little  to  force  any  one 
that  may  be  lurking  by  the  garage  to  retreat  around  the  cor 
ner.  Grumble  a  bit  and  make  a  little  noise;  but  you  are 
not  to  overdo  it — a  couple  of  minutes  at  the  outside  is 
enough,  by  that  time  I  shall  be  under  the  car  seat.  You  will 
;hen  run  the  machine  out  to  the  street  and  stop  at  the  curb, 
jump  out,  and,  as  though  you  had  forgotten  something, 
hurry  back  to  the  garage.  You  must  not  be  away  long — • 
enough  only  to  permit,  say,  a  passer-by  to  glance  into  the 
car  and  satisfy  himself  that  it  is  empty.  You  understand, 
of  course,  Benson,  that  the  hood  must  be  down — no  closed 
car  to  invite  even  the  suggestion  of  concealment — that  would 
be  a  fatal  blunder.  Drive  then  to  the  young  lady's  home  by 
as  direct  a  route  as  you  can — give  no  appearance  of  being 
aware  that  you  are  followed,  as  you  will  be,  and  much  less 
the  appearance  of  attempting  to  elude  pursuit.  Act  natu 
rally.  Between  here  and  your  destination  I  will  manage 
readily  enough  to  leave  the  car.  You  will  then  take  the 
young  lady  for  her  drive — that  is  what  they  will  be  interested 
in — your  motive  for  going  out  to-night.  And,  as  1  said,  take 
her  driving  again  on  each  succeeding  night — establish  the 
habit  to  their  satisfaction." 

Jimmie  Dale  paused,  glanced  at  the  paper  which  he  still 
held  in  his  hand,  then  handed  it  to  Benson. 

"  Just  one  thing  more,  Benson,"  he  said :  "  Listed  on  that 
paper  you  will  find  a  different  rendezvous  for  each  night 
for  the  next  five  nights,  excluding  to-night,  which,  after  you 
have  returned  the  young  lady  to  her  home,  you  are  to  pass 
by  on  your  way  back  here.  See  that  your  drive  is  always 
over  in  time  for  you  to  pass  each  night's  rendezvous  at  half- 
past  eleven  sharp.  Don't  stop  unless  I  signal  you.  If  I 
am  not  there,  go  right  on  home,  and  be  at  the  next  place 
<TO  the  following  night.  I  am  fairly  well  satisfied  they  will 
not  bother  about  you  after  to-night,  or  to-morrow  night  at 
?Jhe  most ;  but,  for  all  that,  you  must  take  no  chances,  so,  ex- 


378    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

cept  in  the  route  you  take  in  going  to  the  young  lady's 
always  avoid  covering  the  same  ground  twice,  which  might 
give  the  appearance  of  having  some  ulterior  purpose  in  view 
— even  in  your  drives,  vary  your  runs.  Is  this  clear,  Ben- 
son?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Benson  earnestly. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  Eight  o'clock 
to  the  dot,  Benson — compare  your  time  with  Jason's.  And 
now,  Jason,  see  that  I  get  a  chance  to  sleep  until  dinner  time 
to-night." 

The  hours  that  followed  were  hours  of  sound  and  much- 
needed  sleep  for  Jimmie  Dale,  and  from  which  he  awoke 
only  on  Jason's  entrance  that  evening  with  the  dinner  tray. 

"  I've  slept  like  a  log,  Jason ! "  he  cried  briskly,  as  he 
leaped  out  of  bed.  "Anything  new — anything  happened?" 

"  No,  sir ;  not  a  thing,"  Jason  answered.  "  Only,  Master 
Jim,  sir  " — the  old  man  twisted  his  hands  nervously — "  I— 
you'll  excuse  my  saying  so,  sir — I  do  hope  you'll  be  careful 
to-night,  sir.  I  can't  help  being  afraid  that  something'll 
happen  to  you,  Master  Jim." 

"  Nonsense,  Jason ! "  Jimmie  Dale  laughed  cheerfully. 
"  There's  nothing  going  to  happen — to  me !  You  go  ahead 
now  and  stay  with  the  servants,  and  get  them  out  of  the  road 
at  the  proper  time." 

He  bathed,  dressed,  ate  his  dinner,  and  was  slipping  car 
tridges  into  the  magazine  of  his  automatic  when,  within  a 
minute  or  two  of  eight  o'clock,  Jason's  whisper  came  from 
the  doorway. 

"  It's  all  clear  now,  Master  Jim,  sir." 

"  Right !  "  Jimmie  Dale  responded — and  followed  Jason 
down  the  stairway,  and  to  the  head  of  the  cellar  stairs. 

Here  Jason  halted. 

"  God  keep  you,  Master  Jim ! "  said  the  old  man  huskily. 

"  Good-night,  Jason,"  Jimmie  Dale  answered  softly ;  and, 
with  a  reassuring  squeeze  on  the  other's  arm,  went  on  down 
to  the  cellar. 

Here  he  moved  quickly,  noiselessly  across  to  the  window— 
aot  the  window  of  the  night  before,  but  another  of  the  saint 


THE  "HOUR"  »79 

description,  almost  directly  beneath  the  one  in  his  den  above, 
that  faced  the  garage  and  lay  in  the  line  of  that  black  shadow 
path  between  the  two  buildings.  Deftly,  cautiously  without 
sound,  a  half  inch,  an  inch  at  a  time  he  opened  it.  He  stood 
listening,  then.  A  minute  passed.  Then  he  heard  Benson 
open  and  shut  the  back  door ;  then  Benson  in  the  yard ;  and 
then  Benson's  voice  in  a  muttered  and  irritable  growl,  talking 
to  himself,  as  he  stamped  around  on  the  ground. 

With  a  lithe,  agile  movement,  Jimmie  Dale  pulled  him 
self  up  and  through  the  window — and  began  to  creep  rapidly 
on  hands  and  knees  toward  the  garage.  It  was  dark,  in 
tensely  dark.  He  could  barely  distinguish  Benson's  form, 
though,  as  he  passed  the  other,  the  slight  sounds  he  made 
drowned  out  by  the  chauffeur's  angry  mumblings,  he  could 
have  reached  out  and  touched  Benson  easily. 

He  gained  the  interior  of  the  garage,  and,  as  Benson, 
•came  on  again,  stepped  lightly  into  the  car,  lifted  the  seat, 
and  wriggled  his  way  inside. 

It  was  close,  stuffy,  abominably  cramped,  but  Jimmie 
Dale  was  smiling  grimly  now.  Thanks  to  Benson,  there 
wasn't  a  possibility  that  he  had  been  seen.  He  both  felt 
ind  heard  Benson  start  the  car.  Then  the  car  moved  for 
ward,  ran  the  length  of  the  driveway,  bumped  slightly  as  it 
made  the  street — and  stopped.  He  heard  Benson  jump  out 
and  run  back — and  then  he  listened  intently,  and  the  grim 
smile  flickered  on  his  lips  again.  Came  the  sound  of  a  foot 
step  on  the  sidewalk  close  beside  the  car — then  silence — th- 
car  shook  a  little  as  though  some  one's  weight  was  on  thr 
step— then  the  footsteps  receded — Benson  returned  on  th* 
run — and  the  car  started  forward  once  more. 

Perhaps  ten  minutes  passed.  Three  times  the  car  had 
swerved  sharply,  making  a  corner  turn.  Then  Jimmie  Dale 
pushed  up  the  seat,  and,  protected  from  observation  from 
behind  by  the  back  of  the  car  itself,  crawled  out  and 
crouched  down  on  the  floor  of  the  tonneau. 

"  Don't  look  around,  Benson,"  he  said  calmly.  "  Are  \m 
followed?" 

"  Yes«  sir,"  Benson  answered.    "  At  least,  there's  always 


380    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

been  a  car  behind  us,  though  not  the  same  one.  They're 
pretty  clever.  There  must  be  three  or  four,  each  following 
the  other.  Every  time  I  turn  a  corner  it's  a  different  car  thai 
turns  it  behind  me." 

"  How  far  behind  ?  "    Jimmie  Dale  asked. 

"  Half  a  block." 

"  Slow  down  a  little,"  instructed  Jimmie  Dale ;  "  and  don1* 
turn  another  corner  until  they've  had  a  chance  to  accomo- 
date  themselves  to  your  new  speed.  You  are  going  too  fast 
for  me  to  jump,  and  I  don't  want  them  to  notice  any  change 
in  speed,  except  what  is  made  in  plain  sight  Yes;  that's 
better.  Where  are  we,  Benson  ?  " 

"  That's  Amsterdam  Avenue  ahead,"  replied  Benson. 

"  All  right,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  quietly.  "  Turn  into  it. 
The  more  people  the  better.  Tell  me  just  as  you  are  about 
to  turn." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Benson;  then,  almost  on  the  instant i 
"All  ready,  sir!" 

Jimmie  Dale's  hand  reached  out  for  the  door  catch,  edged 
the  door  ajar,  the  car  swerved,  took  the  corner — and  Jim 
mie  Dale  stepped  out  on  the  running  board,  hung  there 
negligently  for  a  moment  as  though  chatting  with  Benson, 
and  then  with  an  airy  "  good-night "  dropped  nonchalantly 
to  the  ground,  and  the  next  instant  had  mingled  with  the 
throng  of  pedestrians  on  the  sidewalk. 

A  half  minute  later,  a  large  gray  automobile  turned  the 
corner  and  followed  Benson — and  Jimmie  Dale,  stepping  out 
into  the  street  again,  swung  on  a  downtown  car.  The  road 
to  the  Sanctuary  was  open  ! 

In  his  impatience,  now,  the  street  car  seemed  to  drag  along 
every  foot  of  the  way ;  but  a  glance  at  his  watch,  as  he  finally 
reached  the  Bowery,  and,  walking  then,  rapidly  approached 
the  cross  street  a  few  steps  ahead  that  led  to  the  Sanctuary,, 
told  him  that  it  was  still  but  a  quarter  to  nine.  But  even  at 
that  he  quickened  his  steps  a  little.  He  was  free  now !  There 
was  a  sort  of  savage,  elemental  uplift  upon  him.  He  was 
free!  He  could  strike  now  in  his  own  defense — and  hers? 
jfo  a  few  moments  he  would  be  at  the  Sanctuary ;  in  a  f  ev» 


THE  "HOUR"  581 

more  he  wouid  be  Larry  the  Bat ,  and  by  tomorrow  at  th( 
latest  he  would  see — The  Tocsin.  After  all,  that  "  hour ' 
was  not  to  be  taken  from  him  !  It  was  not,  perhaps,  the  houi 
that  she  had  meant  it  should  be,  thought  and  prayed,  per 
haps,  that  it  might  be !  It  was  not  the  hour  of  victory.  But 
it  was  the  hour  that  meant  to  him  the  realisation  of  the  years 
of  longing,  the  hour  when  he  should  see  her,  see  her  for  the 
first  time  face  to  face,  when  there  should  be  no  more  barriers 
between  them,  when " 

"  Per  Gawd's  sake,  mister,  buy  a  pencil !  " 

A  hand  was  plucking  at  his  sleeve,  the  thin  voice  was 
whining  in  his  ear.  He  halted  mechanically.  A  woman, 
old,  bedraggled,  ragged,  was  thrusting  a  bunch  of  cheap 
pencils  imploringly  toward  him — and  then,  with  a  stifled  cry, 
Jimmie  Dale  leaned  forward.  The  eyes  that  lifted  to  his  for 
an  instant  were  bright  and  clear  with  the  vigor  of  youth, 
great  eyes  of  brown  they  were,  and  trouble,  hope,  fear,  wist- 
fulness,  ay,  and  a  glorious  shyness  were  in  their  depths. 
And  then  the  -voice  he  knew  so  well,  the  Tocsin's  voice,  ws* 
whispering  hurriedly : 

'*  I  will  be  waiting  toere,  Jimmie — for  Larry  the 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  TOCSIN 

IT  wt*  only  a  little  way  back  along  the  street  from  tih, 
Sanctuary  to  the  corner  on  the  Bowery  where  as  Jim* 
mie  Dale  he  had  left  her,  where  as  Larry  the  Bat  now  he  wav 
going  to  meet  her  again ;  it  would  take  only  a  moment  or  so 
even  at  Larry  the  Bat's  habitual,  characteristic,  slouching 
gait — but  it  seemed  that  was  all  too  slow,  that  he  must  throw 
discretion  to  the  winds  and  run  the  distance.  His  blood  was 
tingling ;  there  was  elation  upon  him,  coupled  with  an  almost 
childlike  dread  that  she  might  be  gone. 

"  The  Tocsin !    The  Tocsin !  "  he  kept  saying  to  himself. 

Yes;  she  was  still  there,  still  whiningly  imploring  those 
who  passed  to  buy  her  miserable  pencils — and  then,  with  a 
quick-flung  whisper  to  him  to  follow  as  he  slouched  up  close 
to  her,  she  had  started  slowly  down  the  street. 

"The  Tocsin!  The  Tocsin!  The  Tocsin !  "—his  brain 
seemed  to  be  ringing  with  the  words,  ringing  with  them  in 
a  note  clear  as  a  silver  bell.  The  Tocsin — at  last!  The 
woman  who  so  strangely,  so  wonderfully,  so  mysteriously 
had  entered  into  his  life,  and  possessed  it,  and  filled  it  with  a 
love  and  yearning  that  had  come  to  mold  and  sway  and 
actuate  his  very  existence — the  woman  for  whom  he  had 
fought;  for  whom  he  had  risked,  and  gladly  risked,  his 
wealth,  his  name,  his  honour — everything;  the  woman  for 
whose  sake  he,  the  Gray  Seal,  was  sought  and  hounded  as  the 
most  notorious  criminal  of  the  age;  she  whose  cleverness, 
whose  resourcefulness,  whose  amazing  intimacy  with  the 
hidden  things  of  the  underworld  had  seemed,  indeed,  to 
border  on  the  supernatural;  she,  the  Tocsin — the  woman 
whose  face  he  had  never  seen  before !  The  woman  whose 

382 


THE  TOCSIN  388 

face  he  had  never  seen  before — and  who  now  was  that 
wretched  hag  that  hobbled  along  the  street  before  him, 
begging,  whining,  and  importuning  the  passers-by  to  pur. 
chase  of  her  pitiful  wares ! 

He  laughed  a  little — buoyantly.  He  had  never  pictured  a 
first  meeting  such  as  this !  A  hag  ?  Yes !  And  one  as  dis 
reputable  in  appearance  as  he  himself,  as  Larry  the  Bat,  was 
disreputable !  But  he  had  seen  her  eyes !  Inimitable  as  was 
her  disguise,  she  could  not  hide  her  eyes,  or  hide  the  pledge 
they  held  of  the  beauty  of  form  and  feature  beneath  the 
tattered  rags  and  the  touch  of  a  master  in  the  make-up  that 
brought  haggard  want  and  age  into  the  face — and  dimly  he 
began  to  divine  the  source,  the  means  by  which  she  had  ac 
quired  the  information  that  for  years  had  enabled  her  to  plan 
their  coups,  that  had  enabled  him  to  execute  them  under  the 
guise  of  crime,  that  for  years  had  seemed  beyond  all  human 
reach. 

Where  was  she  going  ?  Where  was  she  taking  him  ?  But 
what  did  it  matter !  The  years  of  waiting  were  at  an  end— 
the  years  of  mystery  in  a  few  moments  now  would  be  mys 
tery  no  more ! 

Ah !  She  had  turned  from  the  Bowery,  and  was  heading 
cast.  He  shuffled  on  after  her,  guardedly,  a  half  block  be 
hind.  It  was  well  that  Jimmie  Dale  had  disappeared,  that 
he  vras  Larry  the  Bat  again — the  neighbourhood  was  grow 
ing  more  and  more  one  that  Jimmie  Dale  could  not  long 
linger  in  without  attracting  attention ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  was  the  natural  environment  of  such  as  Larry  the 
Bat  and  such  as  she,  who  was  leading  him  now  to  the  su 
preme  moment  of  his  life.  Yes,  it  was  that — the  fulfill 
ment  of  the  years !  The  thought  of  it  alone  filled  his  mind,, 
his  soul ;  it  brushed  aside,  it  blotted  out  for  the  time  being 
the  danger,  the  peril,  the  deadly  menace  that  hung  over  them 
both.  It  was  only  that  she,  the  Tocsin,  was  here — only  that 
at  last  they  would  be  together. 

On  she  went,  traversing  street  after  street,  the  direction 
always  trending  toward  the  river — until  finally  she  halted 
before  what  appeared  to  be,  as  nearly  as  he  could  make  oitf 


884    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

in  the  almost  total  darkness  of  the  ill-lighted  street,  a  smaft 
and  tumble-do  ^/n,  self-contained  dwelling  that  bordered  on 
what  seemed  to  be  an  unfenced  store  yard  of  some  descrip 
tion.  He  drew  his  breath  in  sharply.  She  had  halted — • 
waiting  for  him  to  come  up  with  her.  She  was  waiting  for 
him — waiting  for  him !  It  seemed  as  though  he  drank  of 
some  strange,  exhilarating  elixir — he  reached  her  side 
eagerly — and  then — and  then — her  hand  had  caught  his,  an(? 
she  was  leading  him  into  the  house,  into  a  black  passagt 
where  he  could  see  nothing,  into  a  room  equally  black  over 
whose  threshold  he  stumbled,  and  her  voice  in  a  low,  con 
scious  way,  with  a  little  tremour,  a  half  sob  in  it  that  thrilled 
him  with  its  promise,  was  in  his  ears: 

*  We  are  safe  here,  Jimmie,  f 01  a  little  while — but,  oh, 
Jimmie,  what  have  I  done!  What  ha^e  I  done  to  bring 
you  into  this — only — only — I  was  so  sure,  so  sure,  Jimmie, 
that  there  was  nothing  more  to  fear ! " 

Ihe  blood  was  beating  in  hammer  blows  at  his  temples 
It  seemed  all  unreal,  untrue  that  this  moment  could  be  his, 
that  it  was  not  a  dream — a  dream  which  was  presently  to  be 
snatched  from  him  in  a  bitter  awakening.  And  then  he 
laughed  out  wildly,  passionately.  No — it  was  true,  it  was 
real !  Her  breath  was  on  his  cheek,  it  was  a  living,  pulsing 
hand  that  was  still  in  his — and  then  soul  and  mind  and  body 
seemed  engulfed  and  lost  in  a  mad  ecstasy — and  she  was  in 
his  arms,  crushed  to  him,  and  he  was  raining  kisses  upon  her 
face. 

"  I  love  you !  I  love  you !  "  he  was  crying  hoarsely ;  antf 
over  and  over  again :  "  I  love  you !  I  love  you !  " 

She  did  not  struggle.  The  warm,  rich  lips  were  yielding 
to  his ;  he  could  feel  the  throb,  the  life  in  the  young,  lithe 
form  against  his  own.  She  was  his — his!  The  years,  the 
past,  all  were  swept  away — and  she  was  his  at  last — his  for 
always.  And  there  came  a  mighty  sense  cf  kingship  upon 
him,  as  though  all  the  world  were  at  his  feet,  and  virility, 
and  a  great,  glad  strength  above  all  other  men's,  and  a 
was  in  his  soul,  a  song  triumphant — for  she  was  his! 

"  You ! "  he  cried  out — and  strained  hei  to  him.    "  You  J 


THE  TOCSIN  385 

he  <:ried  again — and  kissed  her  lips  and  her  eyelids  and  her 
lips  again. 

And  then  her  head  was  buried  on  his  shoulder,  and  she 
was  crying  softly ;  but  after  a  moment  she  raised  her  hands 
and  laid  them  upon  his  face,  and  held  them  there,  and  be 
cause  it  was  dark,  dared  to  raise  her  head  as  well,  and  her 
eyes  to  look  into  his. 

Then  for  a  long  time  they  stood  there  so,  and  for  a  long 
time  neither  spoke — and  then  with  a  little  startled,  broken 
cry,  as  though  the  peril  and  the  menace  hanging  over  them, 
forgotten  for  the  moment,  were  thrust  like  a  knife  stab 
suddenly  upon  her,  she  drew  herself  away,  and  ran  from 
him,  and  went  and  got  a  lamp,  and  lighted  it,  and  set  it 
upon  the  table. 

And  Jimmie  Dale,  still  standing  there,  watched  her.  How 
gloriously  her  eyes  shone,  dimmed  and  misty  with  the 
tears  that  filled  them  though  they  were!  And  there  was 
nothing  incongruous  in  the  rags  that  clothed  her,  in  the 
squalour  and  poverty  of  the  bare  room,  in  the  white  furrows 
that  the  tears  had  plowed  through  the  grime  and  make-up 
on  her  cheeks. 

"  You  wonderful,  wonderful  woman ! "  Jimmie  Dale 
whispered. 

She  shook  her  head  as  though  almost  in  self-reproach. 

"  I  am  not  wonderful,  Jimmie,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I " — and  then  she  caught  his  arm,  and  her  voice  broke  a 
little — "  I've  brought  you  into  this — probably  to  your  death 
Jimmie,  tell  me  what  happened  last  night,  and  since  then. 
I — I've  thought  at  times  to-day  I  should  go  mad.  Oh,  Jim 
mie,  there  is  so  much  to  say  to-night,  so  much  to  do  if — li 
we  are  ever  to  be  together  for — for  always.  Last  night, 
Jimmie — the  telephone — I  knew  there  was  danger — that  all 
had  gone  wrong — what  was  it  ?  " 

His  arms  were  around  her  shoulders,  drawing  her  close 
to  him  again. 

"  I  found  the  wires  tapped,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Yes,  and — and  the  man  you  met — the  chauffeur?* 

**He  is  dead,"  Jimmie  Dale  answered  gently. 


886    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

He  felt  her  hand  close  with  a  quick,  spasmodic  clutcft 
upon  his  arm ;  her  face  grew  white — and  for  a  moment  she 
turned  away  her  head. 

"  And — and  the  package  ?  "  she  asked  presently. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Jimmie  Dale.  "  He  did  not 
have  it  with  him ;  he " 

"  Wait !  "  she  interrupted  quickly.  "  We  are  only  wast 
ing  time  like  this !  Tell  me  everything,  everything  just  as 
it  happened,  everything  from  the  moment  you  received  my 
letter." 

And,  holding  her  there  in  his  arms,  softening  as  best  he 
could  the  more  brutal  details,  he  told  her.  And,  at  the 
end,  for  a  little  while  she  was  silent;  then  in  a  strained,  im 
pulsive  way  she  asked  again : 

"  The  chauffeur — you  are  sure — you  are  positive  that  he 
is  dead?" 

"  Yes,*  said  Jimmie  Dale  grimly ;  "  I  am  sure."  Ami 
then  the  pent-up  flood  of  questions  burst  from  his  lips. 
Who  was  the  chauffeur?  The  package,  the  box  numbered 
428,  and  John  Johansson?  And  the  Crime  Club?  And  the 
issue  at  stake?  The  danger,  the  peril  that  surrounded  her? 
And  she — above  all — more  than  anything  else — about  her 
self — her  strange  life,  its  mystery? 

She  checked  him  with  a  strangely  wistful  touch  of  her 
finger  upon  his  lips,  with  a  queer,  pathetic  shake  of  her 
head. 

"  No,  Jimmie ;  not  that  way.  You  would  never  under 
stand.  I  cannot " 

"  But  I  am  to  know — now!  Surely  I  am  to  know  now 7* 
he  cried,  a  sudden  sense  of  dismay  upon  him.  Three  years ! 
Three  years — and  always  the  "  next "  time !  "  I  must  know 
now,  if  I  am  to  help  you !  " 

She  smiled  a  little  wanly  at  him,  as  she  drew  herself 
away,  and,  dropping  into  a  chair,  placed  her  elbows  on  the 
rickety  table,  cupping  her  chin  in  her  hands. 

"  Yes  v:  you  are  to  know  now,"  she  said,  almost  as  though 
she  were  talking  to  herself ;  then,  with  a  swift  intake  of  hef 
breath,  impulsively :  "  Jimmie !  Jimmie !  I  had  though! 


THE  TOCSIN  38"< 

tnat  it  would  be  all  so  different  when — when  you  came. 
That — that  I  would  have  nothing  to  fear — for  you — for 
me — because — it  would  be  all  over.  And  now  you  are  here, 
Jimmie — and,  oh,  thank  God  for  you! — but  I  feel  to-night 
almost — almost  as  though  it  were  hopeless,  that — that  we 
were  beaten." 

"  Beaten !  "  He  stepped  quickly  to  the  table,  and  sat 
down,  and  took  one  of  her  hands  away  from  her  face  to 
hold  it  in  both  his  own.  "  Beaten ! "  he  laughed  out  de- 
fkrtly:  then,  playfully,  soothingly,  to  reassure  her:  "Jim. 
mie  Dale  and  Larry  the  Bat  and  the  Gray  Seal  and  the  Toc 
sin — beaten!  And  after  we  have  just  scored  the  last  trick !  " 

"  But  we  do  not  hold  many  trumps,  Jimmie,"  she  answered 
gravely.  "  You  have  seen  something  of  this  Crime  Club's 
power,  its  methods,  its  merciless,  cruel,  inhuman  cunning, 
and  you,  perhaps,  think  that  you  understand — but  you  have 
not  begun  to  grasp  the  extent  of  either  that  power  or  cun 
ning.  This  horrible  organisation  has  been  in  existence  for 
many  years.  I  do  not  know  how  many.  I  only  know  that 
the  men  of  whom  it  is  composed  are  not  ordinary  criminals, 
that  they  do  not  work  in  the  ordinary  way — to-day,  they  set 
the  machinery  of  fraud,  deception,  robbery,  and  murder  in 
motion  that  ten  years  from  now,  and,  perhaps,  only  then, 
'vill  culminate  in  the  final  success  of  their  schemes — and 
they  play  only  for  enormous  stakes.  But " — her  lips  grew 
set — "  you  will  see  for  yourself.  I  must  not  talk  any  longer 
than  is  necessary ;  we  must  not  take  too  much  time.  You 
count  on  three  days  before  they  begin  to  suspect  that  all  is 
not  right  with  Jimmie  Dale — I  know  them  better  than  you, 
and  I  give  you  two  days,  forty-eight  hours  at  the  outside, 
and  possibly  far  less.  Jimmie  " — abruptly — "  did  you  ever 
hear  of  Peter  LaSalle?  " 

"  The  capitalist  ?  Yes !  "  said  Jimmie  Dale.  "  He  died 
a  few  years  ago.  I  know  his  brother  Henry  well — at  the 
club,  and  all  that." 

"  Do  you ! ''  she  said  evenly.  "  Well,  the  man  you  know 
is  not  Peter  LaSalle's  brother;  he  is  an  impostor — and  one 
af  the  Crime  Club." 


888    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

'*  Not — Peter  LaSalle's  brother !  " — Jimmie  Dale  repeated 
the  words  mechanically.  And  suddenly  his  brain  was  whirl 
ing.  Vaguely,  dimly,  in  little  memory  snatches,  events, 
not  pertinent  then,  vitally  significant  now,  came  crowding 
upon  him.  Peter  LaSalle  had  come  from  somewhere  in 
the  West  to  live  in  New  York ;  and  very  shortly  afterward 
had  died.  The  estate  had  been  worth  something  over  eleven 
millions.  And  there  had  been — he  leaned  quickly,  tensely 
forward  over  the  table,  staring  at  her.  "  My  God ! "  h« 
whispered  hoarsely.  "  You  are  not,  you  cannot  be — th«v~: 
the  daughter — Peter  LaSalle's  daughter,  who  disappear?*?.  &t 
Strangely ! " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  quietly,    **  X  am  Marie  LaSalla." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY 

.^  A2.ALLE!  The  old  French  name!  That  old  Frencfc* 
inscnption  on  the  ring:  " Sonnez  le  Tocsin!"  Yesj 
he  began  to  understand  now.  She  was  Marie  LeSalle !  Hf 
began  to  remember  more  clearly. 

Marie  LaSalle !  They  had  said  she  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  girls  who  had  ever  made  her  entree  into  New 
York  society.  But  he  had  never  met  her — as  Marie  La 
Salle  ;  never  met  her — until  now,  as  the  Tocsin,  in  this  bare, 
destitute,  squalid  hovel,  here  at  bay,  both  of  them,  for  their 
lives. 

He  had  been  away  when  she  had  come  with  her  father 
to  New  York;  and  on  his  return  there  had  only  been  the 
father's  brother  in  the  father's  place — and  she  was  gone. 
He  remembered  the  furor  her  disappearance  had  caused ; 
the  enormous  rewards  her  uncle  had  offered  in  an  effort  to 
trace  her ;  the  thousand  and  one  speculations  as  to  what  had 
become  of  her;  and  that  then,  gradually,  as  even  the  most 
startling  and  mystifying  of  events  and  happenings  always 
do,  the  affair  had  dropped  into  oblivion  and  had  been  for 
gotten  by  the  public  at  least.  He  began  to  count  back. 
Yes,  it  must  have  been  nearly  five  years  ago;  two  years 
before  she,  as  the  Tocsin,  and  he,  as  the  Gray  Seal,  had 
formed  their  amazing  and  singular  partnership,  that — he 
started  suddenly,  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  in  as  few  words  as  I  can,"  she  said 
abruptly,  breaking  the  silence.  "  Listen,  then,  Jimmie. 
My  mother  died  ten  years  ago.  I  was  little  more  than  a 
child  then.  Shortly  after  her  death,  father  made  a  business 
frip  to  New  York,  and,  on  the  advice  of  some  supposed 


390    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

friends,  he  had  a  new  will  drawn  up  by  a  lawyer  whom  they 
recommended,  and  to  whom  they  introduced  him.  I  do 
not  know  who  those  men  were.  The  lawyer's  name  was 
Travers,  Hilton  Travers."  She  glanced  curiously  at  Jim- 
mie  Dale,  and  added  quickly :  "  He  was  the  chauffeur— 
the  man  who  was  killed  last  night." 

"  You  mean/'  Jimmie  Dale  burst  out,  "  you  mean  that 
he  was — but,  first,  the  will!  What  was  in  the  will?" 

"  It  was  a  very  simple  will,"  she  answered.  "  And  from 
the  nature  of  it,  it  was  not  at  all  strange  that  my  father 
should  have  been  willing  to  have  had  it  drawn  by  a  compara 
tive  stranger,  if  that  is  what  you  are  thinking.  Summarised 
in  a  few  words,  the  will  left  everything  to  me,  and  appointed 
my  Uncle  Henry  as  my  guardian  and  the  sole  executor  of 
the  estate  until  I  should  have  reached  my  twenty-fifth  birth 
day.  It  provided  for  a  certain  sum  each  year  to  be  paid 
to  my  uncle  for  his  services  as  executor;  and  at  the  ex 
piration  of  the  trust  period — that  is,  when  I  was  twenty- 
five — bequeathed  to  him  the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars.'* 

Timmie  Dale  nodded.    "  Go  on !  "  he  prompted. 

"  It  is  hard  to  tell  it  in  logical  sequence,"  she  said,  hesitat 
ing  a  moment.  "  So  many  things  seem  to  overlap  each  other. 
You  must  understand  a  little  more  about  Hilton  Travers. 
During  the  five  years  following  the  signing  of  the  will  father 
came  frequently  to  New  York,  and  became,  not  only  intimate 
with  Travers,  but  so  much  impressed  with  the  other's  clever 
ness  and  ability  that  he  kept  putting  more  and  more  of  his 
business  into  Travers'  hands.  At  the  end  of  that  five  years, 
we  moved  to  New  York,  and  father,  who  was  then  quite  an 
old  man,  retired  from  all  active  business,  and  turned  over  a 
great  many  of  his  personal  affairs  to  Travers  to  look  after 
for  him,  giving  Travers  power  of  attorney  in  a  number  of 
instances.  So  much  for  Travers.  Now  about  my  uncle. 
He  was  my  father's  only  brother;  in  fact,  they  were  the 
only  surviving  members  of  their  family,  apart  from  very  dis. 
tant  connections  in  France,  from  where,  generations  back, 


THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY  391 

the  family  originally  came."  Her  hand  touched  Jimmie 
Dale's  for  an  instant.  "  That  ring,  Jimmie,  with  its  crest 
and  inscription,  is  the  old  family  coat  of  arms." 
"  Yes,"  he  said  briefly ;  "  I  surmised  as  much." 
"  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  they 
had  not  seen  each  other  for  twenty  years,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly  "  my  father  and  my  uncle  were  more  than  ordi 
narily  attached  to  each  other.  Letters  passed  regularly  be 
tween  them,  and  there  was  constant  talk  of  one  paying  the 
other  a  visit — but  the  visit  never  materialised.  My  uncle 
was  somewhere  in  Australia,  my  father  was  here,  and  con 
sequently  I  never  saw  my  uncle.  He  was  quite  a  different 
type  of  man  from  father — more  restless,  less  settled,  more 
rough  and  ready,  preferring  the  outdoor  life  of  the  Aus 
tralian  bush  to  the  restrictions  of  any  so-called  civilisation, 
I  imagine.  Financially,  I  do  not  think  he  ever  succeeded 
very  well,  for  twice,  in  one  way  or  another,  he  lost  every 
fcheep  on  his  ranch  and  father  set  him  up  again;  and  I  do 
not  think  he  could  ever  have  had  much  of  a  ranch,  for  I 
remember  once,  in  one  of  the  letters  he  wrote,  that  he  said 
he  had  not  seen  a  white  man  in  weeks,  so  he  must  have 
lived  a  very  lonely  life.  Indeed,  at  about  the  time  father 
drew  the  new  will,  my  uncle  wrote,  saying  that  he  had  de 
cided  to  give  up  sheep  running  on  his  own  account  as  it 
did  not  pay,  and  to  accept  a  very  favourable  offer  that  had 
been  made  to  him  to  manage  a  ranch  in  New  Zealand ;  and 
his  next  letter  was  from  the  latter  country,  stating  that  he 
had  carried  out  his  intentions,  and  was  well  satisfied  with 
the  change  he  had  made.  The  long-proposed  visit  still  con 
tinued  to  occupy  my  father's  thoughts,  and  on  his  retirement 
from  business  he  definitely  made  up  his  mind  to  go  out  to 
New  Zealand,  taking  me  with  him.  In  fact,  the  plans  were 
all  arranged,  my  uncle  expressed  unbounded  delight  in  his 
letters,  and  we  were  practically  on  the  eve  of  sailing,  when 
a  cable  came  from  my  uncle,  telling  us  to  postpone  the  visit 
for  a  few  months,  as  he  was  obliged  to  make  a  buying  trip 
for  his  new  employer  that  would  keep  him  away  that  length 
of  time — and  then  " — her  fingers,  that  had  been  abstractedly 


392    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

picking  out  the  lines  formed  by  the  grain  of  the  wood  in  tW 
table  top,  closed  suddenly  into  tight-clenched  fists — "  and 
then — my  father  died." 

Jimmie  Dale  turned  away  his  head.  There  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  The  old  sense  of  unreality  was  strong  upon  him 
again.  He  was  listening  to  the  Tocsin's  story.  It  was  strange 
that  he  should  be  doing  that — that  it  could  be  really  so! 
It  seemed  as  though  magically  he  had  been  transported  out  of 
the  world  where  for  years  past  he  had  lived  with  danger 
lurking  at  every  turn,  where  men  set  watch  about  his  house 
to  trap  him,  where  the  denizens  of  the  underworld  yowled 
like  starving  beasts  to  sink  their  fangs  in  him,  where  the 
police  were  ceaselessly  upon  his  trail  to  wreak  an  insensate 
vengeance  upon  him ;  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  been 
transported  away  from  all  that  to  something  that  he  had 
dreamed  might,  perhaps,  sometime  happen,  that  he  had 
hoped  might  happen,  that  he  had  longed  for  always,  but 
now  that  it  was  his,  that  it  also  was  full  of  the  sense  of  the 
unreal.  And  yet  as  his  mind  followed  the  thread  of  her  story, 
and  leaped  ahead  and  vaguely  glimpsed  what  was  to  come, 
he  was  conscious  in  a  sort  of  premonitory  way  of  a  vaster 
peril  than  any  he  had  ever  known,  as  though  forces,  for  the 
moment  masked,  were  arrayed  against  him  whose  strength 
and  whose  malignity  were  beyond  human  parallel.  In  what 
a  strange,  almost  incoherent  way  his  brain  was  working !  He 
roused  himself  a  little  and  looked  around  him — and,  with  a 
shock,  the  starkness  of  the  room,  the  abject,  pitiful  air  of 
destitution  brought  home  to  him  with  terrific,  startling  force 
the  significance  of  the  scene  in  which  he  was  playing  a  part. 
His  face  set  suddenly  in  hard  lines.  That  she  should  have 
been  brought  to  assume  such  a  life  as  this — forced  out  of  her 
environment  of  wealth  and  refinement,  forced  in  her  purity 
to  rub  shoulders  with  the  vile,  the  dissolute,  forced  to  exist 
as  such  a  creature  amid  the  crime  and  vice,  the  wretched 
horror  of  the  underworld  that  swirled  around  her!  There 
was  anger  now  upon  him,  burning,  hot — a  merciless  craving 
that  was  a  savage,  hungry  lust  for  vengeance. 

And  then  she  was  speaking  again : 


THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY  393 

"  Father's  death  occurred  very  shortly  after  my  uncle's 
message  advising  us  to  postpone  our  trip  was  received.  On 
his  death,  Travers,  very  naturally,  as  father's  lawyer,  cabled 
my  uncle  to  come  to  New  York  at  once ;  and  my  uncle  re 
plied,  saying  that  he  was  coming  by  the  first  steamer." 

She  paused  again — but  only  for  an  instant,  as  though  to 
frame  her  thoughts  in  words. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  had  never  seen  my  uncle,  that  even 
my  father  had  not  seen  him  for  twenty  years ;  and  I  have 
told  you  that  the  man  you  know  as  Henry  LaSalle  is  an 
impostor — I  am  using  the  word  '  uncle '  now  when  I  refer 
to  him  simply  to  avoid  confusion.  You  are,  perhaps,  ex 
pecting  me  to  say  that  I  took  a  distinctive  dislike  to  him 
from  the  moment  he  arrived  ?  On  the  contrary,  I  had  every 
reason  to  be  predisposed  toward  him;  and,  indeed,  was 
rather  agreeably  surprised  than  otherwise — he  was  not 
nearly  so  uncouth  and  unpolished  as,  somehow,  I  had  pic 
tured  his  life  would  have  made  him.  Do  you  understand, 
Jimmie?  He  was  kind,  sympathetic;  and,  in  an  apathetic 
way,  I  liked  him.  I  say  '  apathetic '  because  I  think  that 
best  describes  my  own  attitude  toward  every  one  and  every 
thing  following  father's  death  until — that  night." 

She  rose  abruptly  from  her  chair,  as  though  a  pas 
sive  position  of  any  kind  had  suddenly  become  intoler^ 
able. 

"  Why  tell  you  what  my  father  and  I  were  to  each  other !  " 
she  cried  out  in  a  low,  passionate  voice.  "  It  seemed  as 
though  everything  that  meant  anything  had  gone  out  of 
my  life.  I  became  worn  out,  nervous ;  and  though  the  days 
wer»  bad  enough,  the  nights  were  a  source  of  dread.  I 
began  to  suffer  from  insomnia — I  could  not  sleep.  This 
was  even  before  my  supposed  uncle  came.  I  used  to  read 
for  hours  and  hours  in  my  room  after  I  had  gone  to  bed. 
But " — she  flung  out  her  hand  with  an  impatient  gesture 
— "  there  is  no  need  to  dwell  on  that.  One  night,  about 
a  week  after  that  man  had  arrived,  and  a  little  over  a  month 
after  father  had  died,  I  was  in  my  room  and  had  finished 


a  book  I  was  reading-.  I  remember  that  it  was  well 
midnight  I  had  not  the  slightest  inclination  to  sleep.  I 
picked  up  another  book — and  after  that  another.  There  were 
plenty  in  my  room ;  but,  irrationally,  of  course,  none  pleased 
me.  I  decided  to  go  down  to  the  library — not  that  I  think 
I  really  expected  to  find  anything  that  I  actually  wanted, 
but  more  because  it  was  an  impulse,  and  furnished  me  for 
the  moment  v/ith  some  definite  objective,  something  to  do. 
I  got  up,  slipped  on  a  dressing  gown,  and  went  downstairs. 
The  lights  were  all  out.  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  switch 
ing  on  those  in  the  reception  hall,  when  suddenly  it  seemed 
as  though  I  had  not  strength  to  lift  my  hand,  and  I  remem 
ber  that  for  an  instant  I  grew  terribly  cold  with  dread  and 
fear.  From  the  room  on  my  right  a  voice  had  reached  me. 
The  door  was  closed,  but  the  voice  was  raised  in  an  outburst 
of  profanity.  I — I  could  hear  every  word. 

"  *  If  she's  out  of  the  way,  there's  no  come-back,*  the  voice 
snarled.  *  I  won't  listen  to  anything  else !  Do  you  hear ! 
Why,  you  fool,  what  are  you  trying  to  do — hand  me  one! 
Turn  everything  into  cash,  and  divvy,  and  beat  it — eh? 
And  I'm  the  goat,  and  I  get  caught  and  get  twenty  years  for 
stealing  trust  funds — and  the  rest  of  you  get  the  coin ! '  He 
swore  terribly  again.  '  Who's  taken  the  risk  in  this  for  the 
last  five  years!  There'll  be  no  smart  Aleck  lawyer  tricks 
— there'll  be  no  halfway  measures !  And  who  are  you  to 
dictate'.  She  goes  out — that's  safe — I  inherit  as  next  of  kin, 
with  no  one  to  dispute  it,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it ! f 

"  I  stood  there  and  could  not  move.  It  was  the  voice 
of  the  man  I  knew  as  my  uncle  1  My  heart  seemed  to  have 
stopped  beating.  I  tried  to  tell  myself  that  I  was  dreaming, 
that  it  was  too  horrible,  too  incredible  to  be  real ;  that  they 
could  not  really  mean  to — to  murder  me.  And  then  I  rec 
ognised  Hilton  Travers'  voice. 

" '  I  am  not  dictating,  and  you  are  not  serious,  of  course,* 
he  said,  with  what  seemed  an  uneasy  laugh.  *I  am  only 
warning  you  that  you  are  forgetting  to  take  the  real  Henry 
LaSalle  into  account.  He  is  bound  to  hear  of  this  even* 
tually,  and  then—— ^' 


THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY 

*  Another  voice  broke  in — one  I  did  not  recognise. 

"  '  You're  talking  too  loud,  both  of  you !  Travers  doesn't 
understand,  but  he's  to  be  wised  up  to-night,  according 
to  orders,  and ' 

"  The  voice  became  inaudible,  muffled — I  could  not  hear 
any  more.  I  suppose  1  remained  there  another  three  or 
four  minutes,  too  stunned  to  know  what  to  do;  and  then  1 
ran  softly  along  the  hall  to  the  library  door.  The  library, 
you  understand,  was  at  the  rear  of  the  room  they  were  in, 
and  the  two  rooms  were  really  one ;  that  is,  there  was  only 
an  archway  between  them.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  my 
emotions  were — I  do  not  know.  I  only  know  that  I  kept 
repeating  to  myself,  *  they  are  going  to  kill  me,  they  are  going 
to  kill  me ! '  and  that  it  seemed  I  must  try  and  find  out 
everything,  everything  I  could." 

She  turned  away  from  the  table,  and  began  to  pace  ncnf- 
cusly  up  and  down  the  miserable  room. 

Jimmie  Dale  rose  impulsively  from  his  chair — but  s.'  * 
waved  him  back  again. 

"  No ;  wait !  "  she  said.  "  Let  me  finish.  I  crept  into  th 
library.  It  took  me  a  long  time,  because  I  had  to  be  s< 
careful  not  to  make  the  slightest  noise.  I  suppose  it  was 
fully  six  or  seven  minutes  from  the  time  I  had  first  heard 
my  supposed  uncle's  voice  until  I  had  crept  far  enough  for 
ward  to  be  able  to  see  into  the  room  beyond.  There  were 
three  men  there.  The  man  I  knew  as  my  uncle  was  sitting 
at  one  end  of  the  table  ;  another  had  his  back  toward  me ;  and 
Travers  was  facing  in  my  direction — and  I  think  I  never 
saw  so  ghastly  a  face  as  was  Hilton  Travers'  then,  He 
was  standing  up,  sort  of  swaying,  as  he  leaned  with  both 
hands  on  the  table. 

" '  Now  then,  Travers,'  the  man  whose  back  was  turned 
to  me  was  saying  threateningly,  '  you've  got  the  story  now 
—sign  those  papers ! ' 

"  It  seemed  as  though  Travers  could  not  speak  for  a  mo 
ment.  He  kept  looking  wildly  from  one  to  the  other.  He 
was  white  to  the  lips. 

"'You've  let  me  in  for — this!"  he  said  hoarsely,  a*  last 


896    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

3  You  devils — you  devils — you  devils !  You've  let  me  in  fofc 
—murder!  Both  of  them!  Both  Peter  and  his  brother— 
murdered!" 

She  stopped  abruptly  before  Jimmie  Dale,  and  clutched 
his  arm  tightly. 

"  Jimmie,  I  don't  know  why  I  did  not  scream  out.  Every 
thing  went  black  for  a  moment  before  my  eyes.  It  was  the 
first  suspicion  I  had  had  that  my  father  had  met  with  foul 
play,  and  I " 

But  now  Jimmie  Dale  swayed  up  from  his  chair. 

"Murdered!"  he  exclaimed  tensely.  "Your  father! 
But — but  I  remember  perfectly,  there  was  no  hint  of  any 
such  thing  at  the  time,  and  never  has  been  since.  He  died 
from  quite  natural  causes." 

She  looked  at  him  strangely. 

"  He  died  from — inoculation,"  she  said.  "  Did — did  you 
not  see  something  of  that  laboratory  in  the  Crime  Club  your 
self  the  night  before  last — enough  to  understand  ?  " 

"  Good  God !  "  muttered  Jimmie  Dale,  in  a  startled  way ; 
then :  "  Go  on !  Go  on !  What  happened  then  ?  " 

She  passed  her  hand  a  little  wearily  across  her  eyes — and 
sank  down  into  her  chair  again. 

"  Travers,"  she  continued,  picking  up  the  thread  of  her 
story,  "  had  raised  his  voice,  and  the  third  man  at  the  table 
leaned  suddenly,  aggressively  toward  him. 

" '  Hold  your  tongue ! '  he  growled  furiously.  '  All  you're 
asked  to  do  is  sign  the  papers — not  talk ! ' 

"  Travers  shook  his  head. 

" '  I  won't ! '  he  cried  out.  *  I  won't  have  any  hand  in 
another  murder — in  hers !  My  God,  I  won't — I  won't,  I  tell 
you !  It's  horrible ! ' 

"  *  Look  here,  you  fool ! '  the  man  who  was  posing  as  my 
tincle  broke  in  then.  '  You're  in  this  too  deep  to  get  out 
now.  If  you  know  what's  good  for  you,  you'll  do  as  you're 
Sold!' 

"  Jimmie,  I  shall  never  forget  Travers'  face.  It  seemed 
to  have  changed  from  white  to  gray,  and  there  was  horror 
xn  his  eyes ;  and  then  he  seemed  to  lose  all  control  of  hin>- 


THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY  397 

self,  shaking  his  fists  i«i  their  faces,  cursing  them  in  utter 
abandon. 

"  *  I'm  bad  { '  he  cried.  *  I've  gone  everything,  everything 
but  the  limit — everything  but  murder.  I  stop  there!  I'll 
have  no  more  to  do  with  this.  I'm  through!  You — you 
pulled  me  into  this,  and — and  I  didn't  know ! ' 

"  '  Well,  you  know  now ! '  the  third  man  sneered.  '  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? ' 

"  *  I'm  going  to  see  that  no  harm  comes  to  Marie  LaSalle," 
Travers  answered  in  a  dull  way. 

"  The  other  man  now  was  on  his  feet — and,  I  do  not 
know  quite  how  to  express  it,  Jimmie,  he  seemed  ominously 
quiet  in  both  his  voice  and  his  movements. 

"  '  You'd  better  think  that  over  again,  Travers ! '  he  said 
'  Do  you  mean  it  ?  ' 

"  '  I  mean  it,'  Travers  said.    '  I  mean  it — God  help  me !  * 

" '  You  may  well  add  that ! '  returned  the  other,  with  an 
ugly  laugh.  He  reached  out  his  hand  toward  the  telephone 
on  the  table.  '  Do  you  know  what  will  happen  to  you  if  I 
telephone  a  certain  number  and  say  that  you  have  turned- 
traitor  ?  * 

"  '  I'll  have  to  take  my  chances/  Travers  replied  doggedly. 
*  I'm  through ! ' 

" '  Take  them,  then ! '  flung  out  the  other.  '  You'll  have 
little  time  given  you  to  do  us  any  harm  ? ' 

"  Travers  did  not  answer.  I  think  he  almost  expected  an 
Attack  upon  him  then  from  the  two  men.  He  hesitated  a 
moment,  then  backed  slowly  toward  the  door.  What  hap 
pened  in  the  next  few  moments  in  that  room,  I  do  not  know, 
I  stole  out  of  the  library.  I  was  obsessed  with  the  thought 
that  I  must  see  Travers,  see  him  at  all  costs,  before  he  got 
away  from  the  house.  I  reached  the  end  of  the  hall  as  the 
room  door  opened,  and  he  came  out.  It  was  dark,  as  I  said, 
und  I  could  not  see  distinctly,  but  I  could  make  out  his  form. 
He  closed  the  door  behind  him — and  then  I  called  his  name 
in  a  whisper.  He  took  a  quick  step  toward  me,  then  turned 
and  hurried  toward  the  front  door,  and  I  thought  he  was 
going  away — but  the  next  instant  I  understood  his  ruse.  He 


398    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

opened  the  front  door,  shut  it  again  quite  loudly,  and  crept 
back  to  me. 

"  '  Take  me  somewhere  where  we  will  be  safe — quick ! '  he 
whispered. 

"  There  was  only  one  place  where  I  was  sure  we  would 
be  safe.  I  led  him  to  the  rear  of  the  house  and  up  the 
servants'  stairs,  and  to  my  boudoir." 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  and  once  more  rose  from  her  chairt 
and  once  more  began  to  pace  the  room.  Back  in  his  chair, 
Jimmie  Dale,  tense  and  motionless  now,  watched  her  with 
out  a  word. 

"  It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  all  that  passed  between 
us,"  she  went  on  hurriedly.  "  The  man  was  frankly  a 
criminal — but  not  to  the  extent  of  murder.  And  i»  that 
respect,  at  least,  he  was  honest  with  himself.  Almost  the 
first  words  he  said  to  me  were :  *  Miss  LeSalle,  I  am  as 
good  as  a  dead  man  if  I  am  caught  by  the  devils  behind  those 
two  men  downstairs.'  And  then  he  began  to  plead  with  me 
to  make  my  own  escape.  He  did  not  know  who  the  man 
was  that  was  posing  as  my  uncle,  had  never  seen  him  before 
until  he  presented  himself  as  Henry  LaSalle ;  the  other  man 
he  knew  as  Clarke,  but  knew  also  that  *  Clarke  '  was  merely 
an  assumed  name.  He  had  fallen  in  with  Clarke  almost 
from  the  time  that  he  had  begun  to  practise  his  profession, 
and  at  Clarke's  instigation  had  gone  from  one  crooked  deal 
to  another,  and  had  made  a  great  deal  of  money.  He  knew 
that  behind  Clarke  was  a  powerful,  daring,  and  unscrupulous 
band  of  criminals,  organised  on  a  gigantic  scale,  of  which  he 
himself  was,  in  a  sense — a  probationary  sense,  as  he  put  it— 
a  member ;  but  he  had  never  come  into  direct  contact  with 
them — he  had  received  all  his  orders  and  instructions 
through  Clarke.  He  had  been  told  by  Clarke  that  he  was  to 
cultivate  father  following  the  introduction,  to  win  father's 
confidence,  to  get  as  many  of  father's  affairs  into  his  hands 
as  possible,  to  reach  the  position,  in  fact,  of  becoming  father's 
recognised  attorney — and  ail  this  with  the  object,  as  he  sup 
posed  of  embezzling  from  father  on  a  large  scale.  Then 
father  died,  and  Travers  was  instructed  to  cable  my  uncle 


THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY 

He  knew  that  the  man  who  answered  that  summons  was  an 
impostor ;  but  he  did  not  know,  until  they  had  admitted  it  to 
him  that  night,  that  both  my  father  and  my  uncle  had  been 
murdered,  and  that  I,  too,  was  to  be  made  away  with.*' 

She  looked  at  Jimmie  Dale,  and  suddenly  laughed  out 
bitterly. 

"  No ;  you  don't  understand,  even  yet,  the  patient,  in 
genious  deviltry  of  those  fiends.  It  was  they,  at  the  time 
the  new  will  was  drawn,  who  offered  to  buy  out  my  real 
uncle's  sheep  ranch  in  that  lonely,  unsettled  district  in 
Australia,  and  offered  him  that  new  position  in  New  Zealand. 
My  uncle  never  reached  New  Zealand.  He  was  murdered 
on  his  way  there.  And  in  his  place,  assuming  his  name,  ap 
peared  the  man  who  has  been  posing  as  my  uncle  ever  since. 
Do  you  begin  to  see !  For  five  years  they  were  patiently 
working  out  their  plans,  for  five  years  before  my  father's 
death  that  man  lived  and  became  known  and  accepted,  and 
established  himself  as  Henry  LaSalle.  Do  you  see  now 
why  he  cabled  us  to  postpone  our  visit?  He  ran  very  little 
risk.  The  chances  were  one  in  a  thousand  that  any  of  his 
few  acquaintances  in  Australia  would  ever  run  across  him 
in  New  Zealand  ;  and  besides,  he  was  chosen  because  it  seems 
there  was  a  slight  resemblance  between  him  and  the  real 
Henry  LaSalle — enough,  with  his  changed  mode  of  living 
and  more  elaborate  and  pretentious  surroundings,  to  have 
enabled  him  to  carry  through  a  bluff  had  it  become  necessary. 
He  had  all  of  my  uncle's  papers ;  and  the  Crime  Club  fur 
nished  him  with  every  detail  of  our  lives  here.  I  forgot  to 
Bay,  too,  that  from  the  moment  my  uncle  was  supposed  to 
have  reached  New  Zealand  all  his  letters  were  typewritten — ' 
an  evidence  in  father's  eyes  that  his  brother  had  secured  a 
position  of  some  importance ;  as,  indeed,  from  apparently 
unprejudiced  sources,  they  took  pains  to  assure  father  was 
a  fact.  This  left  them  with  only  my  uncle's  signature  to 
forge  to  the  letters — not  a  difficult  matter  for  them ! 

"  Believing  that  they  had  Travers  so  deeply  implicated 
that  he  could  do  nothing,  even  if  he  had  the  inclination, 
which  they  had  Dot  for  a  moment  imagined,  and  arrogant 


400    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

in  the  belief  m  aieir  own  power  to  put  him  out  of  the  way 
in  any  case  if  he  proved  refractory,  they  admitted  all  this 
to  him  that  night  when  he  brought  up  the  issue  of  the  real 
Henry  LaSalle  putting  in  an  appearance  sooner  or  later, 
and  when  they  wanted  him  to  smooth  their  path  by  releasing 
all  documents  where  his  power  of  attorney  was  involved. 
Do  you  see  now  the  part  they  gave  Travers  to  play  ?  It 
was  to  put  the  stamp  of  genuineness  upon  the  false  Henry 
LaSalle.  Not  but  that  they  were  prepared  with  what  would; 
appear  to  be  overwhelmingly  convincing  evidence  to  prove 
it  if  it  were  necessary ;  but  if  the  man  were  accepted  by  the 
estate's  lawyer  there  was  little  chance  of  any  one  else  ques 
tioning  his  identity." 

She  halted  again  by  the  table- --and  forced  a  smile,  as  hei 
tyes  met  Jimmie  Dale's. 

"  I  am  almost  through,  Jimmie.  lihat  night  was  a  terrible 
one  for  both  of  us.  Travers'  life  was  not  worth  a  moment's 
purchase  once  they  found  him — and  mine  was  only  under 
reprieve  until  sufficient  time  to  obviate  suspicion  should 
have  elapsed  after  father's  death.  We  had  no  proof  that 
would  stand  in  any  court — even  if  we  should  have  been 
given  the  chance  to  adopt  that  course.  And  without  abso 
lute,  irrefutable  proof,  it  was  all  so  cleverly  woven,  stretched 
over  so  many  years,  that  our  charge  must  have  been  held 
to  be  too  visionary  and  fantastic  to  have  any  basis  in  fact. 

"All  Travers  would  have  been  able  to  advance  was  the 
statement  that  the  supposed  Henry  LaSalle  had  admitted 
being  an  impostor  and  a  murderer  to  him !  Who  would  be 
lieve  it !  On  the  face  of  it,  it  appeared  to  be  an  absurdity. 
And  even  granted  that  we  were  given  an  opportunity  to  bring 
the  charge,  they  would  be  able  to  prove  by  a  hundred  in 
fluential  and  well-known  men  in  New  Zealand  that  the 
impostor  was  really  Henry  LaSalle;  and  were  we  able  to 
find  any  of  my  uncle's  old  acquaintances  in  Australia,  it 
would  be  necessary  to  get  them  here — and  not  one  of  them 
would  have  reached  America  alive. 

"  But  there  was  not  a  chance,  not  a  chance,  Jimmie,  of 
doing  that — they  would  have  killed  Travers  the  moment  he 


THE  TOCSIN'S  STORY  *OI 

himself  in  the  open.  The  only  thing  we  could  do 
that  night  was  to  try  and  save  our  own  lives ;  the  only  thing 
we  could  look  forward  to  was  acquiring  in  some  way,  un 
known  to  them,  the  proof,  fully  established,  with  which 
we  could  crush  them  in  a  single  stroke,  and  before  they 
would  have  time  to  strike  back. 

"  The  vital  thing  was  proof  of  my  uncle's  death.  That, 
if  it  could  be  obtained  at  all,  could  only  be  obtained  in 
Australia.  Travers  was  obliged  to  go  somewhere,  to  dis 
appear  from  that  moment  if  he  wanted  to  save  his  life,  and 
he  volunteered  to  go  out  there.  He  left  the  house  that  night 
by  the  back  entrance  in  an  old  servant's  suit,  which  I 
found  for  him — and  I  never  heard  from  him  again  until  a 
month  ago  in  the  '  personal '  column  of  the  Morning  News* 
Argus,  through  which  we  had  agreed  to  communicate,, 

"  As  for  myself,  I  left  the  house  the  next  morning,  tell 
ing  my  pseudo  uncle  that  I  was  going  to  spend  a  few  days 
with  a  friend.  And  this  I  actually  did;  but  in  those  few 
days  I  managed  to  turn  all  my  own  securities,  that  had  been 
left  me  by  my  mother  and  which  amounted  to  a  consider 
able  sum,  into  cash.  And  then,  Jimmie,  I  came  to — this, 
I  have  lived  like  this  and  in  different  disguises,  as  a  settle 
ment  worker,  as  a  widow  of  means  in  a  fashionable  uptown 
apartment,  but  mostly  as  you  see  me  now — for  five  years 
For  five  years  I  have  watched  my  supposed  uncle,  hoping, 
praying  that  through  him  I  could  get  to  know  the  others 
associated  with  him ;  hoping,  praying  that  Travers  would 
succeed;  hoping,  praying  that  we  would  get  them  all — and 
watching  day  after  day,  and  year  after  year  the  '  personal ' 
•column  of  the  paper,  until  at  last  I  began  to  be  afraid  that 
it  was  all  useless.  And  there  was  nothing,  Jimmie,  nothing 
anywhere,  and  I  had  no  success  " — her  voice  choked  a  little. 
'*  Nothing !  Even  Clarke  never  went  again  to  the  house. 
You  can  understand  now  how  I  came  to  know  the  strange 
things  that  I  wrote  to  the  Gray  Seal,  how  the  life  that  1 
'have  led,  how  this  life  here  in  the  underworld,  how  the  con 
stant  search  for  some  clew  on  my  own  account  brought 
them  to  my  knowledge;  and  you  can  understand  now,  too, 
I  never  dared  to  let  you  meet  me.  for  I  knew  well 


402    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

enough  that,  while  I  worked  to  undermine  my  father's 
my  uncle's  murderers,  they  were  moving  heaven  and  earth 
to  find  me. 

"  That  is  all,  Jimmie.  The  day  before  yesterday,  a  month 
after  Travers'  first  message  to  let  me  know  that  he  was  com 
ing,  there  was  another  '  personal '  giving  me  an  hour  and  a 
telephone  number.  He  was  back!  He  had  everything — 
everything !  We  dared  not  meet ;  he  was  afraid,  suspicious 
that  they  had  got  track  of  him  again.  You  know  the  rest. 
That  package  contained  the  proof  that,  with  Travers'  death, 
can  probably  never  be  obtained  again.  Do  you  understand 
why  they  want  it — why  it  is  life  and  death  to  me?  Do  you 
understand  why  my  supposed  uncle  offered  huge  rewards 
for  me,  why  secretly  every  resource  of  that  hideous  organi 
sation  has  been  employed  to  find  me — that  it  is  only  by  my 
death  the  estate  can  pass  into  their  hands,  and  now 

She  flung  out  her  hands  suddenly  toward  Jimmie  Dale. 

"  Oh,  Jimmie,  Jimmie,  I've — I've  fought  so  long  alone ! 
Jimmie,  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

He  came  slowly  to  his  feet.  She  had  fought  so  long — 
alone.  But  now — now  it  was  his  turn  to  fight — for  her. 
But  how?  She  had  not  told  him  all — surely  she  had  not 
told  him  all,  for  everything  depended  upon  that  package. 
There  had  been  so  much  to  tell  that  she  had  not  thought  of 
aM,  and  she  had  not  told  him  the  details  about  that. 

"  That  box— No.  428 !  "  he  cried  quickly.  "  What  is  that  ? 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  who  is  this  John  Johansson?" 

ff  I  do  not  know,"  she  said  again. 

*  Nor  where  the  Crime  Club  is  ?  " 

«  No  "—dully. 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  in  a  dazed  way. 

"  My  God !  "    Jimmie  Dale  murmured. 

And  then  she  turned  away  her  head. 

"It's — it's  pretty  bad,  isn't  it,  Jimmie?     I — I  told  you 
we  did  not  hold  many  trumps." 


CHAPTER  X 

SILVER   MAG 

was  silence  between  them.    Minute  after  minute 
passed.    Neither  spoke. 

Jimmie  Dale  dropped  back  into  his  chair  again,  and  stared 
abstractedly  before  him.  "  We  do  not  hold  many  trumps, 
Jimmie — we  do  not  hold  many  trumps  " — her  words  were 
repeating  themselves  over  and  over  in  his  mind.  They 
seemed  to  challenge  him  mockingly  to  deny  what  was  so 
obviously  a  fact,  and  because  he  could  not  deny  it  to  taunt 
and  jeer  at  him — to  jeer  at  him,  when  all  that  was  held  af 
stake  hung  literally  upon  his  next  move ! 

He  looked  up  mechanically  as  the  Tocsin  walked  to  a 
broken  mirror  at  the  rear  of  the  miserable  room ;  nodded 
mechanically  in  approval  as  she  began  deftly  to  retouch  the 
make-up  on  her  face  where  the  tears  had  left  their  traces 
— and  resumed  his  abstracted  gaze  before  him. 

Box  number  four-two-eight — John  Johansson — the  Crime 
Club — the  identity  of  the  man  who  was  posing  as  Henry 
LaSalle!  If  only  he  could  hit  upon  a  clew  to  the  solution 
of  a  single  one  of  those  things,  or  a  single  phase  of  one  of 
them — if  only  he  could  glimpse  a  ray  of  light  that  would 
at  least  prompt  action,  when  every  moment  of  inaction  was 
multiplying  the  odds  against  them ! 

There  were  the  men  who  were  watching  his  house  at  that 
moment  on  Riverside  Drive — he,  as  Larry  the  Bat,  might 
in  turn  keep  watch  on  them.  He  had  though  of  that.  In 
time,  perhaps,  he  might,  by  so  doing,  discover  the  where* 
abouts  of  the  crime  Club.  In  time!  It  was  just  that — hi 
had  no  time!  Forty-eight  hours,  the  Tocsin  insisted,  was 
$1J  the  time  that  he  could  count  upon  before  they  would  be* 

403 


404    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIfi  DALE 

come  suspicious  of  Jimmie  Dale's  "  illness,"  before  they 
would  discover  that  they  were  watching  an  empty  house! 

He  might — though  this  was  even  more  hazardous — make 
an  attempt  to  trace  the  wires  that  tapped  those  of  his  tele 
phone  through  the  basement  window  that  gave  on  the  garage 
driveway.  And  what  then  ?  True,  they  could  not  lead  very 
far  away ;  but,  even  if  successful,  what  then?  They  would 
not  lead  him  to  the  Crime  Club,  but  simply  to  some  confed 
erate,  to  some  man  or  woman  playing  the  part  of  a  servant, 
perhaps,  in  the  house  next  door,  who,  in  turn,  would  have 
to  be  shadowed  and  watched. 

Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head.  Better,  of  the  two,  to  start 
in  at  once  and  shadow  those  who  were  shadowing  his  house. 
But  that  was  not  the  way !  He  knew  that  intuitively.  He 
hated  to  eliminate  it  from  consideraion,  for  he  had  no  other 
move  to  take  its  place — but  such  a  move  was  almost  suicide 
in  itself.  Time,  and  time  alone,  was  the  vital  factor.  They, 
the  Tocsin  and  he,  must  act  quickly — and  strike  that  night 
if  they  were  to  win.  His  fingers,  the  grimy  fingers,  dirty- 
Tiailed,  of  Larry  the  Bat,  that  none  now  would  recognise  as 
the  slim  tapering,  wonderfully  sensitive  fingers  of  Jimmie 
Dale,  the  fingers  that  had  made  the  name  of  the  Gray  Seal 
famous,  whose  tips  mocked  at  bars  and  safes  and  locks, 
and  seemed  to  embody  in  themselves  all  the  human  senses, 
tightened  spasmodically  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  Time! 
Time!  Time!  It  seemed  to  din  in  his  ears.  And  while 
he  sat  there  powerless,  impotent,  the  Crime  Club  was  mov 
ing  heaven  and  earth  to  find  what  he  must  find — that  package 
— if  he  was  to  save  this  woman  here,  the  woman  whom  he 
loved,  she  who  had  been  forced,  through  the  machinations  of 
these  hell  fiends,  to  adopt  the  life  of  a  wretched  hag,  to  exist 
among  the  dregs  of  the  underworld,  whose  squalour  and  vice 
and  wantonness  none  knew  better  than  he ! 

Jimmie  Dale's  face  set  grimly.  Somewhere — somewhere  in 
the  past  five  years  of  this  life  of  hers  in  which  she  had  been 
fighting  the  Crime  Club,  pitting  that  clever  brain  of  hers 
against  it,  must  lie  a  clew.  She  had  told  him  her  story  only 
in  baldest  outline,  with  scarcely  a  reference  to  her  owr 


SILVER  MAG  405 

personal  acts,  with  barely  a  single  detail.  There  must  be 
something,  something  that  perhaps  she  had  overlooked, 
something,  just  the  merest  hint  of  something  that  would 
supply  a  starting  point,  give  him  a  glimmer  of  light. 

She  came  back  from  across  the  room,  and  sank  down  in 
her  chair  again.  She  did  not  speak — the  question,  that 
meant  life  and  death  to  them  both,  was  in  her  eyes. 

Jimmie  answered  the  mute  interrogation  tersely. 

"  Not  yet !  "  he  said.  Then,  almost  curtly,  in  a  quick, 
incisive  way,  as  the  keen,  alert  brain  began  to  delve  and 
probe :  "  You  say  this  man  Clarke  never  returned  to  the 
liouse  after  that  night  ?  " 

She  nodded  her  head  quietly. 

"  You  are  sure  of  that  ?  "  he  insisted. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.    "  I  am  sure." 

"  And  you  say  that  all  these  years  you  have  kept  a  watch 
On  the  man  who  is  posing  as  your  uncle,  and  that  he  never 
went  anywhere,  or  associated  with  any  one,  that  would  afford 
you  a  clew  to  this  Crime  Club  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  again. 

It  was  a  moment  before  Jimmie  Dale  spoke. 

"  It's  very  strange ! "  he  said  musingly,  at  last.  "  So 
strange,  in  fact,  that  it's  impossible.  He  must  have  commu 
nicated  with  the  others,  and  communicated  with  them  often. 
The  game  they  were  playing  was  too  big,  too  full  of  details, 
to  admit  of  any  other  possibility.  And  the  telephone  as  an 
explanation  isn't  good  enough." 

"  And  yet,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  possible  or  impossible, 
it  is  nevertheless  true.  That  he  might  have  succeeded  in 
eluding  me  on  occasions  was  perhaps  to  be  expected  ;  but  that 
in  all  those  years  I  should  not  catch  him  once  in  what,  if 
you  are  correct,  must  have  been  many  and  repeated  confer 
ences  with  the  same  men  is  too  improbable  to  be  thought  of 
seriously." 

Jimmie  Dale  shook  his  head  again. 

"If  you  had  been  able  to  watch  him  night  and  day,  that 
might  be  so,"  he  said  crisply.  "  But,  at  best,  you  could  only 
watch  him  a  very  small  portion  of  the  time." 


406    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

She  smiled  at  him  a  little  wanly. 

"  Do  you  think,  Jimmie,  from  what  you,  as  the  Gray  Seal, 
know  of  me,  that  I  would  have  watched  in  any  haphazard 
way  like  that  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  her  with  a  sudden  start. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  Look  at  me !  "  she  said  quietly.  "  Have  you  ever  sect 
me  before  ?  I  mean  as  I  am  now." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  after  an  instant.  "  Not  that  I  know 
of." 

"  And  yet  " — she  smiled  wanly  again — "  you  have  nol 
lived,  or  made  the  place  you  hold  in  the  underworld,  without 
having  heard  of  Silver  Mag." 

"  You !  "  exclaimed  Jimmie  Dale.  "  You — Silver  Mag !  " 
He  stared  at  her  wonderingly,  as,  crouch-shouldered  now, 
the  hair,  gray-threaded,  straggling  out  from  under  the  hood 
of  a  faded,  dark-blue,  seam- worn  cloak,  she  sat  before  him, 
a  typical  creature  of  the  underworld,  her  role  an  art  in  its 
conception,  perfect  in  its  execution.  Silver  Mag!  Yes,  he 
had  heard  of  Silver  Mag — as  every  one  in  the  Bad  Lands 
had  heard  of  her.  Silver  Mag  and  her  pocketful  of  coin! 
Always  a  pocketful  of  silver,  so  they  said,  that  was  dispensed 
prodigally  to  the  wives  and  children  temporarily  deprived 
of  support  by  husbands  and  fathers  unfortunate  enough  in 
their  clashes  with  the  law  to  be  doing  "  spaces  "  up  the  river 
— and  therefore  the  underworld  swore  by  Silver  Mag. 
Always  silver,  never  a  bill ;  Silver  Mag  had  never  been  seen 
with  a  banknote — that  was  her  eccentricity.  Much  or  little, 
she  gave  or  paid  out  of  her  pocketful  of  jangling  silver.. 
She  was  credited  with  being  a  sworn  enemy  of  the  police, 
and — yes,  he  remembered,  too — with  having  done  "  time  " 
herself.  "  I  don't  quite  understand,"  he  said,  in  a  puzzled 
way.  "  I  haven't  run  across  you  personally  because  yoo. 
probably  took  care  to  see  that  I  shouldn't ;  but — it's  no  secret 
- — every  one  says  you've  served  a  jail  sentence  yourself." 

"  That  is  simply  enough  explained,"  she  answered  gravely. 
u  The  story  is  of  my  own  making.  When  I  decided  to  adopt 
this  life,  both  for  my  own  saftey  and  as  the  best  means  o( 


SILVER  MAG  40T 

fceeping  a  watch  on  that  man,  I  knew  that  I  must  win  the 
confidence  of  the  underworld,  that  I  must  have  help,  and  that 
in  order  to  obtain  that  help  I  must  have  some  excuse  for 
my  enmity  against  the  man  known  as  Henry  LaSalle.  To  be 
widely  known  in  the  underworld  was  of  inestimable  value — 
nothing,  I  knew,  could  accomplish  that  as  quickly  a?  eccen 
tticity.  You  see  now  how  and  why  I  became  known  as  Silver 
Mag.  I  gained  the  confidence  of  every  crook  in  New  York 
through  their  wives  and  children*  I  told  them  the  story  of 
my  jail  sentence — while  I  swore  vengeance  on  Henry  La 
Salle.  I  told  them  that  he  had  had  me  arrested  for  some 
thing  I  never  stole  while  I  was  working  for  him  as  a  char 
woman,  and  that  he  had  had  me  railroaded  to  jail.  There 
wasn't  one  but  gave  me  credit  for  the  theft,  perhaps ;  but 
equally,  there  wasn't  one  but  understood,  and  my  eccentric 
ity  helped  this  out,  my  wanting  to  '  get '  Henry  LaSalle. 
Well — do  you  see  now,  Jimmie?  I  had  money,  I  had  the 
confidence  of  the  underworld,  I  had  an  excuse  for  my  hatred 
of  Henry  LaSalle,  and  so  I  had  all  the  help  I  wanted.  Day 
and  night  that  man  has  been  watched.  He  receives  no 
visitors — what  social  life  he  has  is,  as  you  know,  at  the 
club.  There  is  not  a  house  that  he  has  ever  entered  that, 
sooner  or  later,  I  have  not  entered  after  him  in  the  hope 
of  finding  the  headquarters  of  the  clique.  Even  the  men 
and  women,  as  far  as  human  possibility  could  accomplish 
it,  that  he  has  talked  to  on  the  streets  have  been  shadowed, 
and  their  identity  satisfactorily  established — and  the  net  re 
sult  has  been  failure ;  utter,  absolute,  complete  failure ! " 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes,  that  had  held  steadily  on  her  face, 
shifted,  troubled  and  perplexed,  to  the  table  top. 

"  You  are  wonderful !  "  he  said,  under  his  breath.  "  Won 
derful!  And — and  that  makes  it  all  the  more  amazing,  all 
the  more  incomprehensible.  It  is  still  impossible  that  he 
has  not  been  in  close  and  constant  touch  witn  his  accom 
plices.  He  must  have  been!  We  would  be  blind  fools  to 
argue  against  it!  It  could  not,  on  the  face  of  it,  have  been 
otherwise!" 


408    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Then  how,  when,  where  has  he  done  it  ? "  she  asked 
wearily. 

"  God  knows !  "  he  said  bitterly.  "  And  if  they  have  been 
clever  enough  to  escape  you  all  these  years,  I'm  almost  in 
clined  to  say  what  you  said  a  little  while  ago — that  we're 
beaten." 

She  watched  him  miserably,  as  he  pushed  back  his  chair 
impulsively  and,  standing  up,  stared  down  at  her. 

"We're  against  it — hard!"  he  said,  with  a  mirthless 
laugh.  Then,  his  lips  tightening:  "But  we'll  try  another 
tack — the  chauffeur — Travers.  Th<-  gh  even  here  the 
Crime  Club  has  a  day's  start  of  us,  even  if  last  night  they 
knew  no  more  about  the  whereabouts  of  that  package  than 
we  know  now.  I'm  afraid  of  it !  The  chances  are  more  than 
even  that  they've  already  got  it.  If  they  were  able  to  catch 
Travers  as  the  chauffeur,  they  would  have  had  something 
tangible  to  work  back  from  " — Jimmie  Dale  was  talking 
more  to  himself  than  to  the  Tocsin  now,  as  though  he  were 
muttering  his  thoughts  aloud.  "  How  d«d  they  get  track  ©f 
him?  When?  Where?  What  has  it  led  to?  And  what 
in  Heaven's  name,"  he  burst  out  suddenly,  "  is  this  box 
number  four-two-eight ! " 

"  A  saftey-deposit  vault,  perhaps,  that  he  has  taken  some 
where,"  she  hazarded. 

Jimmie  Dale  laughed  mirthlessly  again. 

"  That  is  the  one  definite  thing  I  do  know — that  it  isn't! " 
he  said  positively.  "  It  is  nothing  of  that  kind.  It  was  half- 
past  ten  o'clock  at  night  when  I  met  him,  and  he  said  that 
he  had  intended  going  back  for  the  package  if  it  had  6een 
safe  to  do  so.  Deposit  vaults  are  not  open  at  that  hour. 
The  package  is,  or  was,  if  they  have  not  already  got  it, 
readily  accessible — and  at  any  hour.  Now  go  over  every 
thing  again,  every  detail  that  passed  between  you  and 
Travers.  He  let  you  know  that  he  was  back  in  New  York 
by  means  of  a  *  personal,'  vou  said.  Wrhat  else  was  in  that 
*  personal '  besides  the  telephone  number  and  the  hour  you 
#ere  to  call  him?  Anything?  " 

**  Nothing  that  will  help  us  any,"  she  replied  colourlessly. 


SILVER  MAG  409 

v  There  were  simply  the  words  '  northeast  corner  of  Sixth 
Avenue  and  Waverly  Place,'  and  the  signature  that  we  had 
agreed  upon,  the  two  first  and  two  last  letters  of  the  alpha 
bet  transposed— BAZY." 

"  I  see,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  quickly.  "  And  over  the  'phone 
he  completed  his  message.  Clever  enough  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  In  that  way,  if  any  one  were  listening, 
or  overhead  the  plan,  there  could  be  little  harm  come  of 
it,  for  the  essential  feature  of  all,  the  place  of  rendezvous, 
was  not  mentioned.  It  has  not  been  Travers'  fault  that  this 
happened — and  in  spite  of  every  precaution  it  has  cost  him 
his  life.  He  wanted  nothing  to  give  them  a  clew  to  my 
whereabouts ;  he  was  trying  to  guard  against  the  slightest 
evidence  that  would  associate  us  one  with  the  other.  He 
even  warned  me  over  the  'phone  not  to  tell  him  now,  where, 
or  the  mode  of  life  I  was  living.  And  naturally,  he  dared 
give  me  no  particulars  about  himself.  I  was  simply  to  select 
a  third  party  whom  I  could  trust,  and  to  follow  out  his  in 
structions,  which  were  those  that  I  sent  to  you  in  my  letter.'r 

Jimmie  Dale  began  to  pace  nervously  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  Nothing  else  ?  "  he  queried,  a  little  blankly. 

"  Nothing  else,"  she  said  monotonously. 

"  But  since  last  night,  since  you  knew  that  things  had  gone, 
wrong,"  he  persisted,  "  surely  you  traced  that  telephone  num. 
ber — the  one  you  called  up  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  a  tired 
way.  "  Naturally  I  did  that — but,  like  everything  else,  it 
amounted  to  nothing.  He  telephoned  from  MakofFs  pawn 
shop  on  that  alley  off  Thompson  Street,  and " 

"Where!"  Jimmie  Dale,  suddenly  stock-still,  almost 
shouted  the  word.  "  He  telephoned  from — where !  Say 
that  again ! " 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  half  rising  from  her 
chair. 

"  Jimmie,  what  is  it  ? "  she  cried.  "  You  don't  mean 
that — n 


410    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

He  was  beside  her  now,  his  hands  pressed  upon  her  shout* 
ders,  his  face  flushed. 

"  Box  number  four-two-eight !  "  He  laughed  out  hysteri 
cally  in  his  excitement.  "  John  Johansson — box  number 
four-two-eight!  And  like  a  fool  I  never  thought  of  it! 
Don't  you  see  ?  Don't  you  know  now  yourself  ?  The  under 
ground  post  office!" 

She  stood  up,  clinging  to  him ;  a  wild  relief,  that  was 
based  on  her  confidence  in  him,  in  her  eyes  and  face,  even 
while  she  shock  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said  frantically.  "  No — I  do  not  know.  Tell 
me,  Jimmie  !  Tell  me  quickly !  You  mean  at  Makoff's  ?  " 

"  No !  Not  Makoff's — at  Spider  Jack's,  on  Thompson 
Street !  " — he  was  clipping  off  his  words,  still  holding  her 
tightly  by  the  shoulders,  still  staring  into  her  eyes.  "  You 
know  Spider  Jack !  Jack's  little  novelty  store !  Ah,  you 
have  not  learned  all  of  the  underworld  yet!  Spider  Jack 
is  the  craftiest '  fence  '  in  the  Bad  Lands — and  Makoff  is  his 
partner.  Spider  buys  the  crooks'  stuff,  and  Makoff  disposes 
of  it  through  the  pawnshop — it's  only  a  step  through  the 
connecting  back  yard  from  one  to  the  other,  and " 

"  Yes — but,"  she  interrupted  feverishly,  "  the  package — 
you  said " 

"  Wait !  "  Jimrnie  Dale  cried.  "  I'm  coming  to  that!  If 
Travers  stood  in  with  Makoff,  he  stood  in  with  Spider 
Jack.  For  years  Spider  has  been  a  sort  of  clearing  house  for 
the  underworld — for  years  he  has  conducted,  and  profitably, 
too,  his  underground  post  office.  Crooks  from  all  over  the 
country,  let  alone  those  in  New  York,  comvnunicate  with 
each  other  through  Spider  Jack.  These,  for  a  fee,  are  regis 
tered  at  Spider's,  and  given  a  number — a  box  number  he 
calls  it,  though,  of  course,  there  are  no  actual  boxes.  Letters 
come  by  mail  addressed  to  him — the  sealed  envelope  within 
containing  the  actually  intended  recipient's  name.  These 
Spider  either  forwards,  or  delivers  in  person  when  they  are 
called  for.  Dozens  of  crooks,  too,  unwilling,  perhaps,  to 
dispose  of  small  ill-gotten  articles  at  ruinous  '  fence '  prices^ 
and  finding  it  unhealthy  for  the  moment  to  keep  them  in  theif 


SILVER  MAG  411 

possession,  use  this  means  of  depositing  them  temporarily  for 
safe-keeping.  You  see  now,  don't  you?  It's  certain  that's 
where  Travers  left  the  package.  He  used  the  name  of  John 
Johansson,  not  to  hoodwink  Spider  Jack,  I  should  say,  but  as 
an  added  safeguard  against  the  Crime  Club.  Travers  must 
have  known  both  Makoff  and  Spider  Jack  in  the  old  days, 
and  probably  had  reason,  and  good  reason,  to  trust  them 
both — possibly,  a  crook  then  himself,  as  he  confessed,  he 
may  have  acted  in  a  legal  capacity  for  them  in  their  fre 
quent  tangles  with  the  police." 

**  Then,"  she  said — and  there  was  a  glad,  new  note  in 
her  voice,  "  then,  Jimmie — Jimmie,  we  are  safe !  You  can 
get  it,  Jimmie!  It  is  only  a  little  thing  for  the  Gray  Seal 
to  do — to  get  it  now  that  we  know  where  it  is." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  tersely.    "  Yes— if  it  is  still  there." 

"  Still  there !  " — she  repeated  the  words  quickly,  ner 
vously.  "  Still  there !  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  if  they,  too,  have  not  discovered  that  he  was  at 
Makoff's — if  they  have  not  got  there  first!  "  he  said  grimly. 
"  There  seems  to  be  no  limit  to  their  cleverness,  or  their 
power.  They  penetrated  his  disguise  as  a  chauffeur,  and 
who  knows  what  more  they  have  learned  since  last  night? 
We  are  fighting  them  in  the  dark,  and — what's  that!"  he 
whispered  tensely,  suddenly — and  leaning  forward  like  a 
flash,  as  he  whipped  his  automatic  from  his  pocket,  he  blew 
out  the  lamp. 

The  room  was  in  darkness.  They  stood  there  rigid,  silent, 
listening.  Her  hand  found  and  caught  his  arm. 

And  then  it  came  again — a  low  sound,  the  sound  of  a 
stealthy  footstep  just  outside  the  window  that  faced  on  the 
storage  yard. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   MAGPIE 

/I  MINUTE  passed — another.  The  automatice  at  Jimm'tt 
•*^  Dale's  hip,  the  muzzle  just  peeping  over  the  table  top, 
held  a  steady  bead  on  the  window.  Came  the  footstep  agaifl 
— and  then  suddenly,  a  series  of  low,  quick  tappings  upon 
the  windowpane.  The  Tocsin's  hand  slipped  away  from 
his  arm.  Jimmie  Dale's  set  face  relaxed  as  he  read  the  un 
derground  Morse,  and  he  replaced  his  revolver  slowly  in 
his  pocket. 

"  The  Magpie ! "  said  Jimmie  Dale,  in  an  undertone. 
"What's  he  want?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  in  a  whisper.  "  He  never 
came  here  before.  There's  a  back  way  out,  Jimmie,  il 
you " 

"  No,"  he  said  quickly.  "  We've  enemies  enough,  with- 
out  making  one  of  the  Magpie.  He  knows  some  one  is  here 
with  you — our  shadows  were  on  the  blind.  Don't  queer 
yourself.  Let  him  in.  I'll  light  the  lamp." 

He  struck  a  match,  as  she  ran  from  the  room,  and,  lift 
ing  the  hot  lamp  chimney  with  the  edge  of  his  ragged  coat, 
lighted  the  lamp.  He  turned  the  wick  down  a  little,  shading 
and  dimming  the  room — and  then,  as  he  flirted  a  bead  of 
moisture  from  his  forehead,  whimsically  stretched  out  ni& 
hand  to  watch  it  in  the  lamplight. 

"  That's  bad,  Jimmie,"  he  muttered  gravely  to  himself,  aft 
he  noted  an  almost  imperceptible  tremour.     "  Got  a  start, 
didn't  you !    Under  a  bit  of  a  strain,  eh  ?    Well  " — grimly — 
"never  mind!     It  looks  as  though  the  luck  had  turned 
Makoff  and  Spider  Jack ! " 

412 


THE  MAGPIE  413 

His  hand  reached  up  to  his  hat,  jerked  the  brim  at  a 
rakish  angle  over  his  eyes — and  he  sprawled  himself  out  OQ 
a  chair.  He  heard  the  Tocsin's  voice  at  the  front  door,  and 
&  man's  voice,  low  and  guarded,  answer  her.  Then  the  door 
closed,  and  their  steps  approached  'ie  room.  It  was  rather 
curious,  that — a  visit  from  the  Magpie!  What  could  the 
Magpie  want?  What  could  there  be  in  common  between 
the  Magpie  and  Silver  Mag?  The  Magpie,  alias  Slimmy 
Joe,  was  counted  the  cleverest  safe  worker  in  the  United 
States,  barring  only  and  always  one — a  smile  flickered  across 
the  lips  of  Larry  the  Bat — one  whose  preeminence  the  Mag 
pie,  much  to  his  own  chagrin,  admitted  himself — the  Gray 
Seal! 

He  looked  up,  twisting  the  stub  of  a  cigarette  between 
his  grimy  fingers  and  fumbling  for  a  match,  as  the  Tocsin 
and,  behind  her,  the  Magpie,  short,  slim,  and  wiry,  shrewd- 
faced,  with  sharp,  quick-glancing  little  black  eyes,  entered 
the  room. 

"  'Ello,  Larry !  "  grinned  the  Magpie.  "  Got  yer  breath 
back  yet?  I  felt  it  through  de  windowpane  when  youse  let 
go  at  de  lamp !  " 

"  'Ello,  Slimmy ! "  returned  Jimmie  Dale  ungraciously, 
speaking  through  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  "  Ferget  it !  " 

"  Sure ! "  said  the  Magpie  unconcernedly.  He  stared 
about  him,  and  finrlly,  drawing  a  chair  up  to  the  table,  sat 
down,  motioned  the  Tocsin  to  do  the  same,  and  leaned  for 
ward  amiably.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  throw  no  scare  into 
youse,"  he  said,  in  a  conciliating  tone.  "  But  I  had  a  little 
business  wid  Mag,  an*  I  was  kind  of  interested  in  whether 
she  was  entertainin'  company  or  not — see?  I  didn't  know 
youse  an'  Mag  was  workin'  together." 

"  Mabbe,"  observed  Jimmie  Dale,  as  ungraciously  as  be. 
fore,  "  mabbe  dere's  some  more  t'ings  youse  don't  know ! " 

"  Aw,  cough  up  de  grouch ! "  advised  the  Magpie,  with  a 
hint  of  impatience  creeping  into  his  voice.  "  Youse  don't 
teed  to  be  sore  all  night !  I  told  youse  I  wasn't  tryin'  to  hand 
youse  one,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  Larry,  Slimmy,"  put  in  the  Tocsin  petu- 


414    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

lantly.  "  He's  down  on  his  luck,  dat's  all.  He  ain't  had  de 
price  of  a  pinch  of  coke  fer  two  days." 

"  Oho !  "  exclaimed  the  Magpie,  grinning  again.  "  So 
dat's  wot's  givin'  youse  de  pip,  eh,  Larry?  Well,  den,  say, 
youse  can  take  it  from  me  dat  mabbe  youse'll  be  glad  I  blew 
around.  I  was  lookin'  fer  a  guy  about  yer  size  fer  a  little  job 
to-night,  an'  I  was  t'inkin'  of  lettin'  Young  Dutchy  in  on  it, 
but  seem*  youse  are  here  an'  in  wid  Mag,  an'  dat  I  got  to 
get  Mag  in,  too,  youse  are  on  if  youse  say  de  word." 

"  Wot's  de  lay  ? "  inquired  Larry  the  Bat,  unbending  a 
little. 

The  Magpie  cocked  his  eye,  and  stuck  his  tongue  in  his 
cheek. 

"  Good-night !  "  he  said  tersely.  "  Nothin'  like  dat !  Are 
youse  on,  or  ain't  youse  ?  " 

"Well,  den,  wot's  in  it  fer  me?"  persisted  Larrry  the 
Bat. 

"  More'n  de  price  of  a  coke  sneeze ! "  returned  the  Mag 
pie  pertinently.  "  Dere's  a  century  note  fer  youse,  an' 
mabbe  two  or  t'ree  of  dem  fer  Mag." 

Larry  the  Bat's  eyes  gleamed  avariciously. 

"  Aw,  quit  yer  kiddin' !  "  he  said  gruffly.  "  A  century 
note — fer  me !  " 

"  Dat's  wot  I  said !  Youse  heard  me !  "  rejoined  the  Mag 
pie  shortly.  "  Only  if  it  listens  good  to  youse  now,  I  don't 
want  no  squealin'  after  the  divvy.  I'm  takin'  de  chances, 
youse  has  de  soft  end  of  it.  One  century  note  fer  youse — 
an'  de  rest  is  none  of  yer  business !  Dat's  puttin'  it  straight, 
ain't  it  ?  Well,  wot  do  youse  say,  an'  say  it  quick — 'cause  if 
youse  ain't  comin'  in,  youse  can  beat  it  out  of  here  so's  I  can 
talk  to  Mag." 

"  Dere  ain't  nothin'  I  wouldn't  take  a  chance  on  fer  a 
hundred  plunks !  "  declared  Larry  the  Bat,  with  sudden  fer 
vency — and  stared,  anxiously  expectant,  at  the  Magpie. 
"  Sure,  I'm  on,  Slimmy !  Sure,  I  am !  Cut  it  loose !  Spill 
de  story ! " 

"  Well,  den,"  said  the  Magpie,  "  I  wants " 

"  Youse  ain't  through  yet !  "  interrupted  the  Tocsin  tartly. 


THE  MAGPIE  415 

'*  I  ain't  heard  youse  askin'  me  nothin' !  I  ain't  on  me  uppers 
like  Larry,  an*  mabbe  de  price  don't  cut  so  much  ice- 
see?" 

"  Aw,"  said  the  Magpie,  with  a  smirk,  "  I  don't  have  to 
ask  youse  on  dis  lay.  Dis  is  where  youse'd  come  in  on  it 
fer  marbles.  Say,  dis  is  where  we  gets  de  hook  into  a  guy 
by  de  name  of  Henry  LaSalle !  Get  me  ?  " 

Henry  LaSalle!  Under  the  table,  Jimmie  Dale's  hand 
clenched  suddenly ;  but  not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved,  save, 
as  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  he  shifted  the  butt  of  the 
cigarette  that  was  hanging  royally  from  his  lower  lip  to 
the  other  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  Sure !  She's  '  got '  youse,  Slimmy !  "  he  flung  out,  with 
a  grin,  as  the  Tocsin  wrinkled  up  her  face  menacingly  and 
began  to  mumble  to  herself.  "  He's  de  guy  dat  handed  her 
one  when  she  was  young,  an'  she's  been  layin*  fer  him  ever 
since !  Sure !  I  know !  Ain't  I  worked  him  fer  her  till  I 
wears  me  shoes  out  tryin'  to  get  somet'ing  on  him!  Sure, 
she's  in  on  it !  Go  on,  Slimmy,  wot's  de  lay  ?  Wot  do  I  do 
fer  dat  century  ?  " 

The  Magpie  hitched  his  chair  closer  to  the  table  and,  as 
his  sharp,  little,  ferret  eyes  glanced  around  the  room,  mo 
tioned  the  two  to  brings  their  heads  nearer. 

"  One  of  me  influential  broker  friends  down  on  Wall 
Street  put  me  wise,"  he  said,  with  a  wink.  "  Dat's  good 
enough  fer  youse  two,  as  far  as  dat  goes.  But  take  it  from 
me,  I  got  it  dead  straight."  He  lowered  his  voice  "  Say, 
ne's  one  of  de  richest  mugs  in  New  York,  ain't  he?  Well, 
he's  been  sellin'  stocks  an'  bonds  all  day,  t'ousands  an*  t'ou- 
sands  of  dollars'  worth — fer  cash." 

"All  dem  t'ings  is  always  sold  fer  cash,"  remarked 
Larry  the  Bat  fatuously. 

"  Aw,  f  erget  it !  "  said  the  Magpie  earnestly.  "  Fer  cash, 
I  said — dfc  coin,  de  long  green — understand?  He  wasn't 
shovin'  no  checks  fer  what  he  sold  into  de  bank  except  to 
get  dem  cashed.  Dat's  wot  he's  been  doin'  all  day — gettin' 
de  checks  cashed,  an'  gettin'  de  money  in  big  bills — see !  I 
ftnow  of  one  bunch  of  eighty  t'ousand — an'  dat's  only  one! " 


416    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Wot  f er  ?  "  inquired  Larry  the  Bat.  It  was  the  ques 
tion  that  was  pounding  at  his  brain,  as  he  stared  innocently 
at  the  Magpie.  What  did  it  meau?  Why  was  Henry  La- 
Salle  turning,  and,  if  the  Magpie  was  right,  feverishly  turn 
ing  every  security  he  could  lay  his  hands  on  into  cash  ?  And 
then,  in  a  flash,  the  answer  came.  They  had  not  found  the 
package!  Equally  to  them,  as  to  the  Tocsin,  sitting  there  be 
fore  him,  it  meant  life  and  death.  If  the  package  were  found 
by  the  Tocsin  instead  of  themselves,  the  game  was  up! 
They  were  preparing  for  eventualities.  If  they  were  forced 
to  run  at  a  moment's  notice,  they  at  least  were  not  going 
to  run  empty-handed !  Far  from  empty-handed,  it  seemed ! 
It  would  not  be  difficult  for  the  estate's  executor  to  realise 
a  vast  sum  in  short  order  on  instantly  marketable,  gilt-edged 
securities — say,  half  a  million  dollars.  Not  very  bulky, 
either — in  large  bills!  Five  thousand  hundred-dollar  bills 
would  make  half  a  million.  It  was  astonishing  how  small  a 
hand  bag,  say,  might  hold  a  fortune !  "  Wot  f  er,  Slimmy  ?  " 
he  inquired  again,  wiggling  his  cigarette  butt  on  his  tongue 
tip.  "Wot'd  he  do  dat  fer?" 

"  How  de  hell  do  youse  suppose  I  knows !  "  demanded  the 
Magpie,  politely  scornful.  "  Dat's  his  business — dat  ain'f 
wot's  worry  in'  me!" 

"  No — sure,  it  ain't!"  admitted  Larry  the  Bat  ingratiat 
ingly.  "  But  go  on,  keep  movin',  Slimmy !  Wot's  he  done 
wid'de  stuff?" 

"  Done  wid  it  f "  echoed  the  Magpie,  with  a  short  laugh 
"Wot  do  youse  t'ink!  He's  been  luggin'  it  home  to  his 
swell  joint  up  dere  on  de  avenoo,  an'  crammin'  his  safe  full 
of  it." 

Larry  the  Bat  sucked  in  his  breath. 

"Gee,  dat's  soft!"  he  murmured,  and  then  suddenly,  as 
though  with  painful  inspiration :  "  Say,  Slimmy — say,  are 
youse  sure  youse  ain't  been  handed  a  steer  ?  " 

The  Magpie  grinned  wickedly. 

"  I  ain't  fallin'  fer  steers !  "  he  said  shortly.  "  Dis  te  on 
de  level." 

Jimmie  Dale  lurched  up  from  his  chair,  and,  leaning 


THE  MAGPIE  417 

the  lamp  chimney,  drew  wheezily  on  his  cigarette  to  get  a 
light.  His  eyes  sought  the  Tocsin's  face.  To  all  intents  and 
purposes  she  was  entirely  absorbed  in  the  Magpie.  He  sat 
down  again  to  gape,  with  well-stimulated,  doglike  admiration, 
at  Slimmy  Joe.  W 'as  this,  too,  a  plant?  Why  had  the  Mag 
pie  come  to  them  with  this  story  of  Henry  LaSalle?  Anc 
then,  the  next  instant,  as  the  Magpie  spoke,  his  suspicions 
were  allayed. 

"  Let's  get  down  to  cases ! "  the  Magpie  invited  crisply. 
"  I  didn't  blow  in  here  just  by  luck.  Dis  Henry  LaSalle 
is  de  guy  youse  worked  fer  once,  ain't  he,  Mag?  Dat's  de 
spiel,  ain't  it? — he  sent  youse  up  fer  pinchin'  de  tacks  out 
of  his  carpets !  " 

"  I  never  pinched  nothin' !  "  snarled  Silver  Mag  trucu* 
lently.  "  He's  a  dirty  liar !  I  never  did !  " 

"  Cut  it  out !  Cut  it  out !  Can  dat !  "  complained  the 
Magpie  patiently.  "  De  point  is,  youse  worked  in  his  house, 
didn't  youse  ?  " 

"Sure  I  did!"  snapped  the  Tocsin,  sullenly  aggressive; 
"but " 

"  Well,  den,  dat's  wot  I  want,  dat's  wot  I  come  fer,  Mag 
—a  plan  of  de  house.  See?" 

Jimmie  Dale  could  feel  the  Tocsin's  eyes  upon  him,  ques 
tioning,  searching,  seeking  a  cue.  A  plan  of  the  house — 
yes  or  no  ?  And  a  decision  on  the  instant ! 

"  Sure ! "  said  Larry  the  Bat  brightly.  "  Dat's  wot  I 
was  t'inkin*  youse  were  after  all  de  time.  Say,  youse  are 
all  right,  Slimmy  !  Youse  are  de  kind  to  work  wid  !  Go  on, 
Mag,  draw  de  dope  fer  Slimmy.  Dat's  better  dan  tryin'  to 
put  one  over  on  de  swell  guy.  Dis'll  make  him  squeal  fer 
fair!" 

The  Magpie  produced  a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper  from 
his  pocket,  and  laid  them  on  the  table  in  front  of  the  Toc 
sin. 

"  Dere  youse  are,"  he  announced.  "  Help  yerself,  an* 
>o  to  it,  Mag  \  " 

The  Tocsin,  evidently  not  quite  certain  of  her  part,  wdr 
u*te  pencil  doubtfully  on  the  end  of  her  tongue. 


418    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  I  ain't  never  drawed  plans,"  she  said  anxiously. 
*  Mabbe  " — she  glanced  at  Jimmie  Dale — "  mabbe  I  dunno 
how  to  do  it  right. 

"  Aw,  go  ahead !  "  nodded  Larry  the  Bat.  "  Youse  can 
do  it  right,  Mag.  Youse  don't  have  to  make  no  oil  paintin' ! 
All  de  Magpie  wants  is  de  doors  an'  windows,  eh,  Siimmy  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  agreed  the  Magpie  encouragingly.  "  Dat's  all, 
Mag.  Just  mark  de  rooms  out  on  de  first  floor,  an'  de 
basement.  Youse  can  explain  wot  youse  're  doin'  as  youse 
goes  along.  I'll  get  youse." 

The  Tocsin  cackled  maliciously  in  assent ;  and  then,  while 
the  Magpie  got  up  from  his  chair  and  stood  peering  over 
her  shoulder,  she  began  to  draw  labouriously,  her  brows 
knitted,  the  pencil  hooked  awkwardly  between  cramped-up 
forefinger  and  thumb. 

Larry  the  Bat,  slouched  forward  over  the  table,  his  chin 
in  his  hands,  appeared  to  watch  the  proceedings  with  mild 
interest — but  his  eyes,  like  a  hawk's,  were  following  every 
line  on  the  paper,  transferring  them  to  his  brain,  photo 
graphing  every  detail  of  the  plan  in  his  mind.  And  as  he 
watched,  there  seemed  something  that  was  near  to  the  acme 
of  all  that  was  ironical  in  the  Magpie  standing  there,  his 
sharp,  little,  black  eyes  drinking  in  greedily  the  Tocsin's 
work,  in  the  Tocsin  herself  aiding  and  abetting  in  the  proj 
ected  theft — of  her  own  money!  How  far  would  he  let 
the  Magpie  go?  He  did  not  know.  Perhaps — who  could 
tell ! — all  the  way.  Between  now  and  then  there  lay  that 
package!  If  it  were  at  Makoff's,  at  Spider  Jack's,  if  he 
could  find  it,  get  it — the  Magpie  as  a  temporary  custodian 
of  the  estate's  money  would  at  least  preclude  its  loss  by 
flight  if  the  Crime  Club  took  alarm  too  quickly.  Larry  the 
Bat's  eyes,  under  half-closed  lids,  rested  musingly  on  the 
Magpie's  face.  The  Magpie  would  not  get  very  far  away 
with  it!  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  failed  at  Spider  Jack's, 
if,  after  all,  he  was  wrong,  and  the  package  had  n^ver  been 
there,  or  if  they  had  forestalled  him,  turned  thev."ick  upon 
him,  already  secured  it,  then — Larry  the  Bat's  lips,  working 
on  his  cigarette,  formed  in  a  twisted  smile — then,  well  then, 


THE  MAGPIE 

that  was  quite  another  matter !  Perhaps  he  and  the  Magpie 
might  not  agree  so  far!  A  half  million  dollars  was  per 
haps  not  much  out  of  eleven  millions,  but  it  was  a  salvage 
not  to  be  despised !  Why  did  he  say  half  a  million !  Well, 
why  not?  If  the  Magpie  knew  of  a  single  transaction  of 
eighty  thousand,  and  there  had  been  many  transactions  dur 
ing  the  day,  a  half  million  was  little  likely  to  prove  an  ex 
aggeration — and  the  less  likely  in  view  of  the  fact  that, 
if  those  in  the  Crime  Club  were  preparing  for  an  emer 
gency,  they  would  not  stint  themselves  in  the  disposal  of 
securities. 

The  Magpie  was  keeping  up  a  running  fire  of  questions,  as 
the  Tocsin  toiled  on  with  her  pencil.  Where  did  the  hall 
lead  to?  How  many  windows  in  the  library?  Did  she  re- 
member  the  kind  of  fastenings?  Did  the  servants  sleep  in 
the  basement,  or  above?  And  finally,  twice  over,  as  she 
finished  the  clumsy  drawing  and  pushed  it  toward  him,  he 
demanded  minute  details  of  the  position  of  the  safe. 

"  Aw,  dat's  all  right,  Slimmy ! "  Larry  the  Bat  cut  in 
airily.  "If  youse  ferget  anyt'ing  when  youse  get  in  dere, 
youse  can  ask  me.  I  got  it  cinched !  " 

The  Magpie  folded  the  paper  and  stowed  it  carefully 
away  in  his  pocket. 

"  Ask  youse,  eh !  "  he  grunted  sarcastically.  "  An'  where 
do  youse  t'ink  youse'll  be  about  dat  time  ?  " 

"  In  dere  wid  youse,  of  course,"  replied  Larry  the  Bat 
promptly.  "  Dat's  wot  youse  said." 

"Yes,  youse  will — not!"  announced  the  Magpie,  with 
cold  finality.  "  Do  youse  t'ink  I  want  to  queer  myself ! 
A  hot  one  youse'd  be  on  an  inside  job !  Youse'll  be  outside, 
wid  yer  peepers  skinned  for  de  bulls — youse  an'  Mag  here, 
too.  See !  Get  dat  straight.  While  I'm  on  de  job  youse  two 
plays  de  game.  Now  youse  listen  to  me,  both  of  youse. 
Don't  start  nothin'  unless  youse  has  to.  If  it's  a  cinch  I  got 
to  make  a  get-away,  youse  two  start  a  drunk  fight.  Get  me  ? 
Youse  know  de  lay.  T'row  de  talk  loud — an'  I'll  fade. 
Dat's  all!  We'll  crack  de  crib  early — it'll  be  quiet  enough 
Up  dere  by  one  o'clock  " 


420    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

One  o'clock !  Larry  the  Bat  shook  his  head.  What  time 
was  it  now?  It  was  about  nine  when  he  had  first  met  the 
Tocsin,  then  the  Sanctuary,  then  the  long  walk  as  he  had 
followed  her — say  a  quarter  of  ten  for  that.  And  he  had 
certainly  been  here  with  her  not  less  than  an  hour  and  a 
half.  It  must  be  after  eleven,  then.  One  o'clock!  And 
before  that  must  come  Makoff  and  Spider  Jack !  The  night 
that  half  an  hour  ago  had  seemed  so  sterile,  was  crowding 
a  program  of  events  upon  him  now — too  fast ! 

"  Nothin'  doin' !  "  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  Youse  are  in 
wrong  dere,  Slimmy.  One  o'clock  don't  go!  Say,  take  it 
from  me,  I've  watched  dat  guy  too  many  nights  fer  Mag. 
'Tain't  often  he  leaves  de  club  before  one  o'clock — an'  he 
ain't  never  in  bed  before  two." 

"  All  right,"  agreed  the  Magpie,  "fter  a  moment's  re 
flection.  "  Youse  ought  to  know.  Make  it  three  o'clock." 
He  pulled  a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  lighted  it,  and,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  stuck  his  feet  up  on  the  table.  "  If  youse 
don't  mind,  Mag,  I'll  stick  around  a  while,"  he  decided 
calmly.  "  Mabbe  de  less  I'm  seen  to-night  de  better — an' 
I  guess  dere  won't  be  nobody  lookin'  fer  me  here." 

Larry  the  Bat  coughed  suddenly,  and  rose  up  a  little 
heavily  from  his  chair.  He  had  not  counted  on  that!  If 
the  Magpie  was  settling  down  for  a  prolonged  stay,  it  de 
volved  upon  him,  Jimmie  Dale,  to  get  away,  and  at  once — 
and  without  exciting  the  Magpie's  suspicions.  He  coughed 
again,  looked  nervously  from  the  Tocsin  to  the  Magpie — • 
stammered — swallowed  hard — and  coughed  once  more. 

"  Well,  wot's  bitin'  youse  ? "  inquired  the  Magpie  iron 
ically. 

"  Nothin',"  said  Larry  the  Bat — and  hesitated.  "  Nothin', 
only — "  He  hesitated  again  ;  and  then,  the  words  in  a  rush : 
"  Say,  Slimmy,  couldn't  youse  come  across  wid  a  piece  of 
dat  century  now  ?  " 

"  Wot  fer  ?  "  demanded  the  Magpie,  a  little  aggressively. 

Larry  the  Bat  cleared  his  throat  with  a  desperate  effort. 

"  Youse  knows,"  he  admitted  sheepishly.  "  Just  gimme  d* 
price  of  one,  Slimmy — just  one." 


THE  MAGPIE 

"Coke!"  exploded  the  Magpie.  "An*  get  soaked  to  de 
eyes — not  by  a  damn  sight !  " 

"  No '  Honest  to  Gawd,  no,  Slimmy — just  one  !  "  pleaded 
Larry  the  Bat. 

"  Nix !  "  said  the  Magpie  shortly. 

Larry  the  Bat  thrust  out  a  hand  before  the  Magpie's  eyes 
that  shook  tremulously. 

"  I  got  to  have  it !  "  he  declared,  with  sudden  fierceness. 
"  I  qot  to  —see !  Look  at  me !  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  good 
to-night  if  I  don't.  I  tell  youse,  I  got  to!  I  ain't  goin'  to 
t'row  youse  down,  Slimmy — honest,  I  ain't !  Just  one — an* 
it'll  set  me  up.  If  I  don't  get  none  I'll  be  on  de  rocks  before 
mornin'!  Dat's  straight,  Slimmy — ask  Mag,  she  knows." 

"  Aw,  let  him  go  get  it ! "  broke  in  the  Tocsin  wearily, 
"*  Dat's  de  best  t'ing  youse  can  do,  Slimmy — dey're  all  alike 
when  dey  gets  in  his  class." 

"  Youse  cocaine  sniffers  gives  me  de  pip !  "  snorted  the 
Magpie,  in  disgust.  He  dug  down  into  his  pocket,  pro 
duced  a  bill,  and  flung  it  across  the  table  to  Larry  the  Bat. 
"Well,  dere  youse  are;  but  youse  can  take  it  from  me, 
Larry,  dat  if  youse  gets  whiffed  "—he  swore  threateningly 
— "  I'll  crack  every  bone  in  yer  face !  Get  me  ?  " 

"  Slimmy,"  said  Larry  the  Bat  fervently,  grabbing  at  the 
bill  with  a  hungry  hand,  "  youse  can  count  on  me.  I'll  be 
ap  dere  on  de  job  before  youse  are.  Three  o'clock,  eh? 
Well,  so  long,  Slimmy  "—he  slouched  eagerly  to  the  door. 
"  So  long,  Mag  "—he  paused  on  the  threshold  for  a  single, 
quick-flung,  significant  glance.  "  See  youse  on  de  avenoa 
Mag— I'll  be  up  dere  before  youse  are.  So  long!" 

"  Oh,  so  long !  "  said  the  Tocsin  contemptuously. 

And,  an  instant  later,  Jimmie  Dale  closed  the  outer  door 
behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XII 

JOHN  JOHANSSON — FOUR-TWO-EIGB1 

flkfEARLY  midnight  already!    It  was  even  later  than  he 

had  thought.    Larry  the  Bat  pressed  his  face  against 

a  shop's  windowpane  on  the  Bowery  for  a  glance  at  a  clock 

that  had  caught  his  eye  on  the  wall  within.     Nearly  mid* 

night ! 

He  slouched  on  again  hurriedly,  still  debating  in  his  mind, 
as  he  had  been  debating  it  all  the  way  from  the  Tocsin's, 
the  question  of  returning  again  to  the  Sanctuary.  So  fai% 
the  way  both  to  Spider  Jack's  and  the  Sanctuary  had  been 
in  the  same  direction — but  the  Sanctuary  was  on  the  next 
street. 

Jimmie  Dale  reached  the  corner — and  hesitated.  It  was 
strange  how  strong  was  the  intuition  upon  him  to-night  that 
bade  him  go  on  and  make  all  speed  to  Spider  Jack's — while 
equally  strong  was  the  cold,  stubborn  logic  that  bade  him  go 
first  to  the  Sanctuary.  There  were  things  that  he  needed 
•.here  that  would  probably  be  absolutely  essential  to  him  be 
fore  the  night  was  out,  things  without  which  he  might  be 
so  badly  handicapped  as  to  invite  failure  from  the  start; 
and  yet — it  was  already  midnight! 

Ostensibly  both  Makoff  and  Spider  Jack  closed  their 
places  at  eleven.  But  that  might  mean  anything — depend 
ing  upon  their  own  respective  inclinations,  or  on  what  of 
their  own  peculiar  brand  of  deviltry  might  be  afoot.  If 
they  were  still  about,  still  in  evidence,  he  was  still  too  early, 
midnight  though  it  was ;  though,  on  the  other  hand,  if 
the  coast  was  clear,  he  could  ill  afford  to  lose  a  moment  of 
the  time  between  now  and  the  hour  that  the  Magpie  had 
planned  for  the  robbery  of  Henry  LaSalle,  for  it  would  not 

422 


JOHN  JOHANSSON— FOUR-TWO-EIGHT    423 

$e  an  easy  matter,  even  once  inside  Spider  Jack's,  to  find 
that  package — since  it  was  Spider's  open  boast  that  things 
committed  to  his  care  were  where  the  police,  or  any  one 
else,  might  as  well  whistle  and  suck  their  thumbs  as  try 
to  find  them! 

And  then,  with  sudden  decision,  taking  his  hesitation,  as 
it  were,  by  the  throat,  Jimmie  Dale  hurried  on  again — to 
the  Sanctuary.  At  most,  it  could  delay  him  but  another 
fifteen  minutes,  and  by  half-past  twelve,  or  a  quarter  to 
one  at  the  latest,  he  would  be  at  Spider  Jack's. 

Disdaining  the  secrecy  of  the  side  door  on  the  alley,  for 
who  had  a  better  right  or  was  better  known  there  than  Larry 
the  Bat,  a  tenant  of  years,  he  entered  the  tenement  by  the 
front  door,  scuffled  up  the  stairs  to  the  first  landing,  and 
let  himself  into  his  disreputable  room.  He  locked  the  door 
behind  him,  lighted  the  choked  and  wheezy  gas  jet,  in  a 
single,  sharp-flung  glance  assured  himself  that  the  blinds 
were  tightly  shut,  and,  kneeling  in  the  far  corner,  threw 
back  the  oilcloth  and  lifted  up  the  loose  section  of  the  floor- 
ing  beneath.  He  reached  inside,  fumbling  under  the  neatly 
folded  clothes  of  Jimmie  Dale,  and  in  a  moment  laid  his 
leather  girdle  with  its  kit  of  burglar's  tools  on  the  floor  be 
side  him ;  and  beside  that  again  an  electric  flashlight,  a  black 
silk  mask,  and — what  he  had  never  expected  to  use  again 
when,  early  the  night  before,  he  had,  as  he  had  believed, 
put  it  away  forever — the  thin,  metal  insignia  case  of  the 
Gray  Seal.  Another  moment,  and,  with  the  flooring  re 
placed,  the  oilcloth  rolled  back  into  position,  he  had  stripped 
off  ^lis  coat  and  was  pulling  his  spotted,  greasy  shirt  off 
ove\  his  \iead ;  then,  stooping  quickly,  he  picked  up  th« 
girdl&,  put  it  on,  put  on  his  shirt  again  over  it,  put  on  his 
coat,  ptit  the  metal  case,  the  flashlight,  and  the  mask  in  his 
pockets — and  once  more  the  Sanctuary  was  in  darkness. 

It  was  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  later  that  Jimmie  Dale 
turned  into  the  upper  section  of  Thompson  Street.  Here 
he  slowed  his  pace,  that  had  been  almost  a  run  since  he  had 
Seft  the  Sanctuary,  and  began  to  shuffle  leisurely  along; 
for  the  street,  that  a  few  hours  before  would  have  been 


424    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

choked  with  its  pushcarts  and  venders,  its  half  naked  chiK 
dren  playing  where  they  could  find  room  in  the  gutters,  its 
sidewalks  thronged  with  shawled  women  and  picturesquely 
dressed,  earringed,  dark-visaged  men,  a  scene,  as  it  were, 
transported  from  some  foreign  land,  was  still  far  from  de 
serted  ;  the  quiet,  if  quiet  it  could  be  called,  was  but  com 
parative,  there  were  many  yet  about,  and  he  had  no  desire 
to  attract  attention  by  any  evidence  of  undue  haste.  And, 
besides,  Spider  Jack's  was  just  ahead,  making  the  corner 
of  the  alleyway  a  few  hundred  feet  farther  on,  and  he  had 
very  good  reasons  for  desiring  to  approach  Spider's  little 
novelty  store  at  a  pace  that  would  afford  him  every  op 
portunity  for  observation. 

On  he  shuffled  along  the  street,  until,  reaching  Spider 
Jack's,  a  little  two-storied,  tumble-down  brick  structure,  a 
muttered  exclamation  of  satisfaction  escaped  him.  The  shop 
was  closed  and  dark ;  and,  though  Spider  Jack  lived  above 
the  store,  there  were  no  lights  even  in  the  upper  windows. 
Spider  Jack  presumably  was  either  out,  or  in  bed !  So  f ar> 
then,  he  could  have  asked  for  nothing  more. 

Jimmie  Dale  edged  in  close  to  the  building  as  he  slouched 
by,  so  close  that  his  hat  brim  seemed  to  touch  the  window. 
pane.  It  was  possible  that  from  a  room  at  the  rear  of  the 
store  there  might  be  a  light  with  a  telltale  ray  perhaps  filter 
ing  through,»say,  a  door  crack.  But  there  was  nothing — only 
blackness  within. 

He  paused  at  the  corner  of  the  building  by  the  alleyway. 
Down  here,  adjoining  the  high  board  fence  of  Spider  Jack's 
back  yard,  Makoff  made  pretense  at  pawnbrokering  in  a 
small  and  dingy  wooden  building,  that  was  little  more 
pretentious  than  a  shed — and  in  Makoff's  place,  so  far  at 
he  could  see,  there  was  no  light,  either. 

Jimmie  Dale's  fingers  were  industriously  rolling  a  ciga« 
rette,  as,  under  the  brim  of  his  slouch  hat,  his  eyes  were 
noting  every  detail  around  him.  A  yard  in  against  the  watt 
of  Spider  Jack's,  the  wall  cutting  off  the  rays  of  the  street 
lamp  at  a  sharp  angle,  it  was  shadowy  and  black — and  be 
yond  that,  farther  in,  the  alleyway  was  like  a  pit.  It  wo*H 


JOHN  JOHANSSON— FOUR-TWO-EIGHT    425 

take  less,  far  less,  than  the  fraction  of  a  second  to  gain  that 
yard,  but  some  one  was  approaching  behind  him,  and  a  little 
group  of  people  loitered,  with  annoying  persistency,  directly 
across  the  way  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  Jimmie  Dale 
stuck  the  cigarette  between  his  lips,  fumbled  in  his  pockets, 
and  finally  produced  a  box  of  matches.  The  group  opposite 
was  moving  on  now ;  the  footsteps  he  had  heard  behind  him, 
those  of  a  man,  drew  nearer,  the  man  passed  by — and  the 
box  of  matches  in  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  dropped  to  the  ground. 
He  reached  to  pick  them  up,  and  in  his  stooping  posture, 
without  seeming  to  turn  his  head,  flung  a  quick  glance  behind 
him  up  the  street.  No  one,  for  that  fraction  of  a  second  that 
he  needed,  was  near  enough  to  see — and  in  that  fraction  of 
a  second  Jimmie  Dale  disappeared. 

A  dozen  yards  down  the  lane,  he  sprang  for  the  top  of  the 
high  fence,  gripped  it,  and,  lithe  and  active  as  a  cat,  swung 
himself  up  and  over,  and  dropped  noiselessly  to  the  ground 
on  the  other  side.  Here  he  stood  motionless  for  a  moment, 
close  against  the  fence,  to  get  his  bearings.  The  rear  of 
Spider  Jack's  building  loomed  up  before  him — the  back  win- 
dows  as  unlighted  as  those  in  front.  Luck  so  far,  at  least, 
was  with  him!  He  turned  and  looked  about  him,  and,  his 
fcyes  growing  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  he  could  just  make 
out  Makoff's  place,  bordering  the  end  of  the  yard — nor, 
from  this  new  vantage  point,  could  he  discover,  any  more 
than  before,  a  single  sign  of  life  about  the  pawnbroker's 
establishment. 

Jimmie  Dale  stole  forward  across  the  yard,  mounted  the 
three  steps  of  the  low  stoop  at  Spider  Jack's  back  door, 
and  tried  the  door  cautiously.  It  was  locked.  From  his 
pocket  came  the  small  steel  instrument  that  had  stood  Larry 
the  Bat  in  good  stead  a  hundred  times  before  in  similar  cir 
cumstances.  He  inserted  it  in  the  keyhole,  worked  deftly 
with  it  for  an  instant — and  tried  the  door  again.  It  was  still 
locked.  And  then  Jimmie  Dale  smiled  almost  apologetically. 
Spider  Jack  did  not  use  ordinary  locks  on  his  back  door! 

The  discountenanced  instrument  went  back  into  his  pocket, 
and  now  Jimmie  Dale's  hand  slipped  inside  his  shirt, 


426    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

from  one  of  the  little,  upright  pockets  of  the  leather  belt,  and 
from  still  another,  and  from  after  that  a  third,  came  the 
vicious  little  blued-steel  tools.  The  sensitive  fingers  travelled 
slowly  up  and  down  the  side  of  the  door — and  then  he  was 
at  work  in  earnest.  A  minute  passed — another — there  was  a 
dull,  low,  grating  sound,  a  snick  as  of  metal  yielding  sud 
denly — and  Jimmie  Dale  was  coolly  stowing  away  his  tools 
again  inside  his  shirt. 

He  pushed  the  door  open  an  inch,  listened,  then  swung  it 
wide,  stepped  inside,  and  closed  it  behind  him.  A  round, 
white  beam  of  light  flashed  in  a  quick  circle — and  went  out. 
It  was  a  sort  of  storeroom,  innocent  enough  and  orderly 
enough  in  appearance,  bare-floored,  with  boxes  and  packing 
cases  piled  neatly  against  the  walls.  In  one  corner  a  stair 
case  led  to  the  story  above — and  from  above,  quite  audibly 
now,  he  caught  the  sound  of  snoring.  Spider  Jack  was  in 
bed,  then! 

Directly  facing  him  was  the  open  door  of  another  room, 
And  Jimmie  Dale,  moving  softly  forward,  entered  it.  He 
had  never  been  in  Spider  Jack's  before,  and  his  first  concern 
was  to  form  an  intimate  acquaintanceship  with  his  surround 
ings.  Again  the  flashlight  circled,  and  again  went  out. 

"  No  windows !  "  muttered  Jimmie  Dale  under  his  breath. 
"  Nothing  very  fancy  about  the  architecture !  Three  rooms 
m  a  row!  Store  in  front  of  this  room  through  that  door-, 
of  course.  Wonder  if  the  door's  locked,  though  it's  a  fore 
gone  conclusion  the  package  wouldn't  be  in  there." 

Not  a  sound,  his  tread  silent,  he  crossed  to  the  closed  door 
that  he  had  noticed.  It  was  unlocked,  and  he  opened  it  tenta 
tively  a  little  way.  A  faint  glow  of  light  diffused  itself 
through  the  opening.  Jimmie  Dale  nodded  his  head  and 
closed  the  door  again.  The  street  lamp,  shining  through  the 
shop  windows,  accounted  for  the  light. 

And  now  the  flashlight  played  with  steady  inquisitiveness 
about  him.  The  room  in  which  he  stood  seemed  to  combine 
a  sort  of  office,  with  a  lounging  room,  in  which  Spider  Jack, 
no  doubt,  entertained  his  particular  cronies.  There  was  a 
table  in  the  centre,  cards  still  upon  it.  chairs  about  it-, 


JOHN  JOHANSSON— FOUR-TWO-EIGHT   42V 

Against  the  wall  farthest  away  from  the  shop  stood  a  huge, 
old-fashioned  cabinet ;  and  a  little  farther  along,  anglewise, 
partitioning  off  the  corner,  as  it  were,  hung,  for  some  pur 
pose  or  other,  a  cretonne  curtain.  Also,  against  the  wall 
next  to  the  lane,  bringing  a  commiserating  smile  to  Jimmie 
Dale's  lips  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  it,  was  a  clumsy,  lumbering,, 
antique  safe. 

Jimmie  Dale's  eyes  returned  to  the  curtain.  What  was  it 
doing  there?  What  was  it  for?  Instinctively  he  stepped? 
over  to  examine  it.  A  single  glance,  however,  as  he  lifted 
it  aside,  sufficed.  It  was  nothing  but  a  make-shift  clothes 
closet.  He  turned  from  it,  switched  off  the  flashlight,  and 
stood  staring  meditatively  into  the  darkness.  In  a  strange 
house,  with  the  knowledge  to  begin  with  that  what  he  sought 
was  carefully  hidden,  it  was  no  sinecure  to  find  that  package. 
He  had  never  for  a  moment  imagined  that  it  would  be.  But 
of  one  thing,  however,  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  his  mind- 
he  would  get  the  package! — by  search  if  possible,  by  other 
means  if  search  failed.  It  was  now  close  to  one  o'clock.  If 
by  two  o'clock  his  efforts  had  been  fruitless,  Spider  Jack 
would  hand  over  the  package — at  the  revolver  point!  It 
was  quite  simple!  Meanwhile — Jimmie  Dale  shrugged  hi* 
shoulders,  and,  going  over  to  the  safe,  knelt  down  in  front  of 
it — meanwhile,  as  well  begin  here  as  anywhere  else. 

The  trained  fingers  closed  on  the  handle — and  on  the  in 
stant,  as  though  in  startled  amazement,  shifted  to  the  dial. 
They  came  back  to  the  handle — a  wrench — then  a  lowf 
amused  chuckle — and  the  door  swung  open.  The  great,  un 
wieldy  thing  was  only  a  monumental  bluff!  It  not  only  had 
not  been  locked,  but  it  could  not  be  locked — the  mechanism 
was  out  of  order,  the  bolts  could  not  be  moved  by  so  much 
as  a  hair's  breadth ! 

Still  chuckling,  Jimmie  Dale  shot  the  flashlight's  ray  Into 
the  interior  of  the  safe — and  the  chuckle  died  on  his  lips, 
and  into  his  face  came  a  look  of  strained  bewilderment 
Inside,  everything  was  in  chaos,  books,  papers,  a  miscellany 
of  articles,  as  though  they  had  first  been  ruthlessly  pulled  out 
0»  the  floor,  then  gathered  up  in  an  armful  and  crammed 


428    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

back  inside  again.  For  an  instant  he  did  not  move,  and  then 
a  queer,  hard,  mirthless  smile  drew  down  the  corners  of  his 
mouth.  With  a  sort  of  bitter,  expectant  nod  of  his  head,  he 
turned  the  light  upon  the  door  of  the  safe.  Yes,  there  were 
the  scratches  that  the  tools  had  left ;  and,  as  though  in  sar 
donic  jest,  the  holes,  where  the  steel  bit  had  bored,  were 
plugged  with  putty  and  rubbed  over  with  some  black  sub 
stance  that  was  still  wet  and  came  off,  smearing  his  finger, 
as  he  touched  it.  It  could  not  have  been  done  long  ago, 
then !  How  long  ?  A  half  hour — an  hour  ?  Not  more  than 
that! 

Mechanically  he  closed  the  door  of  the  safe,  rose  to  his 
feet  and,  almost  heedless  of  noise  now,  the  flashlight  ray 
dancing  before  him,  he  jumped  across  to  the  old-fashioned 
cabinet  and  pulled  the  door  open.  Here,  as  within  the  safe, 
all  inside,  plain  evidence  of  thorough,  if  hasty,  search,  was 
scattered  and  tossed  about  in  hopeless  confusion. 

He  shut  the  cabinet  door ;  the  flashlight  went  out ;  and  he 
stood  like  a  man  stunned,  the  sense  of  some  abysmal  disaster 
upon  him.  He  was  too  late!  The  game  was  up!  If  it  had 
ever  been  here,  the  package  was  gone  now — gone!  The 
Crime  Club  had  been  here  before  him! 

"  The  game  was  up !  The  game  was  up !  " — his  mind 
seemed  to  keep  on  repeating  that.  The  Crime  Club  had 
beaten  him  by  an  hour,  at  most,  and  had  been  here,  and 
had  searched.  It  was  strange,  though,  that  they  should  have 
been  at  such  curious  pains  to  cover  their  tracks  by  leaving 
the  room  in  order,  by  such  paltry  efforts  to  make  the  safe 
appear  untouched  when  the  first  glance  that  was  at  all 
critical  would  disclose  immediately  what  had  been  done! 
Why  should  they  need  to  cover  their  tracks  at  all ;  or,  if  it 
was  necessary,  why,  above  all,  in  such  a  pitifully  inadequate 
way !  His  mind  harked  back  to  the  same  ghastly  refrain — • 
"  the  game  was  up !  " 

No !  Not  yet !  There  was  still  a  chance !  There  was  still 
Spider  Jack!  Suppose,  in  spite  of  their  search,  they  had 
failed  to  find  the  package !  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  set  in  a  thin 
line,  as  he  started  abruptly  toward  the  door.  There  was  still 


JOHN  JOHANSSON— FOUR-TWO-EIGHT    429 

/hat  chance,  and  one  thing  was  grimly  certain — Spider  Jack 
would,  at  least,  show  him  where  the  package  had  been! 

And  then,  halfway  to  the  door,  he  halted  suddenly,  and 
stood  still — listening.  An  electric  bell  was  ringing  loudly, 
imperiously,  somewhere  upstairs.  Followed  almost  im 
mediately  the  sound  of  some  one,  Spider  Jack  presumably, 
moving  hurriedly  about  overhead  ;  and  then,  a  moment  later, 
steps  coming  down  the  staircase  in  the  adjoining  room. 

Jimmie  Dale  drew  back,  flattening  himself  against  the 
wall.  Spider  Jack  entered  the  room,  stumbled  across  it,  in 
the  darkness,  fumbled  for  the  door  that  led  into  his  little 
shop,  opened  it,  passed  through,  fumbled  around  in  there 
again,  for  matches  evidently,  then  lighted  a  gas  jet  in  the 
store,  and,  going  to  the  street  door,  opened  it. 

Jimmie  Dale  had  edged  along  the  wall  a  little  to  a  position 
where  he  had  an  unobstructed  view  through  the  open  door* 
way  connecting  the  shop  and  the  room  in  which  he  stood. 
Spider  Jack,  in  trousers  and  shirt,  hastily  donned,  no  doubt, 
as  he  had  got  out  of  bed,  was  standing  in  the  street  door 
way,  and  beyond  him  loomed  the  forms  of  several  men. 
Spider  Jack  stepped  aside  to  allow  his  visitors  to  enter — and 
suddenly,  a  cry  barely  suppressed  upon  his  lips,  Jimmie  Dale 
involuntarily  strained  forward.  Three  men  had  entered,  but 
his  eyes  were  fixed,  fascinated,  upon  only  one — the  first  of 
the  three.  Was  it  an  hallucination  ?  Was  he  mad — dream 
ing?  It  was  Hilton  Travers,  the  chauffeur — the  man  whom 
he  could  have  sworn  he  had  last  seen  dead,  lashed  in  that 
chair,  in  that  ghastly  death  chamber  of  the  Crime  Club! 

"  Rather  rough  on  you,  Spider,  to  pull  you  out  of  bed  at 
this  hour,"  the  chauffeur  was  saying  apologetically. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  seein'  it's  you,  Travers,"  Spider  Jack 
answered,  gruffly  amiable.  "  Only  I  was  kind  of  lookin'  for 
you  last  night." 

"  I  know,"  the  chauffeur  replied ;  "  but  I  couldn't  connect 
with  my  friends  here.  Shake  hands  with  them,  Spider — Bob 
Marvin — Harry  Stead." 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  gents,"  said  Spider  Jack,  with  a> 
apiece. 


430    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

The  chauffeur  lowered  his  voice  a  little. 

"I  suppose  we're  alone  here,  eh,  Spider?  Yes?  Well, 
then,  you  know  what  I've  come  for — that  package — Marvin 
and  Stead,  here,  are  the  ones  that  are  in  on  it  with  me.  Get 
it  for  me,  will  you,  Spider?  " 

"  Sure — Mr.  Johansson !  "  Spider  grinned.  "  Sure ! 
Come  on  into  the  back  room  and  make  yourselves  com* 
fortable.  I'll  be  mabbe  five  minutes,  or  so." 

Jimmie  Dale's  brain  was  whirling.  What  did  it  mean? 
He  could  not  seem  to  understand.  His  mind  seemed  to  re 
fuse  its  functions.  Travers,  the  chauffeur — alive!  He  drew 
in  his  breath  sharply.  That  curtain  in  the  corner !  He  must 
see  this  out  now !  They  were  coming !  Quick,  noiseless,  he 
stole  along  the  side  of  the  wall,  reached  the  corner,  and 
slipped  in  behind  the  curtain,  as  Spider  Jack,  striking  a 
match,  entered  the  room. 

Spider  Jack  lighted  the  gas,  and,  as  the  others  followed  be. 
hind  him,  waved  them  toward  the  chairs  around  the  table, 

"  I'll  just  ask  you  gents  not  to  leave  the  room,"  he  said 
meaningly,  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  stepped  toward  the  rear 
door.  "  It's  kind  of  a  fad  of  mine  to  keep  some  things  even 
from  my  wife  !  " 

"  All  right,  Spider — I  understand,"  the  chauffeur  returned 
readily. 

Jimmie  Dale's  knife  cut  a  tiny  slit  in  the  cretonne  on  a 
level  with  his  eyes.  The  three  men  had  seated  themselves 
at  the  table,  and  appeared  to  be  listening  intently.  Spider 
Jack's  footsteps  echoed  back  as  he  crossed  the  rear  room, 
sounded  dull  and  muffled  descending  the  stoop  outside,  and 
died  away. 

"  I  told  you  it  wasn't  in  the  house !  "  the  man  who  had 
been  introduced  as  Stead  laughed  shortly.  "  We  wasted  the 
hour  we  had  here." 

The  third  man  spoke  crisply,  incisively,  to  the  chauffeur. 

"  Turn  down  that  gas  jet  a  little !  You've  got  across  with 
it  so  far — but  you  can't  stand  a  searchlight,  Clarke !  " 

And  at  the  words,  in  a  flash,  the  meaning  of  it,  all  of  it,  to 
the  last  Detail  that  was  spelling  death,  ruin,  and  disaster 


JOHN  JOHANSSON— FOUR-TWO-EIGHT    431 

her,  the  Tocsin,  for  himself  as  well,  burst  upon  Jimmie  Dale. 
That  j'&ice!  He  would  have  known  it,  recognised  it,  among 
a  thousand — it  was  the  masked  man  of  the  night  before,  the 
leader,  the  head  of  the  Crime  Club !  And  it  was  not  Travers 
there  at  all!  He  remembered  now,  too  well,  that  second 
room  they  had  showed  him  in  the  Crime  Club — its  multitude 
of  disguises,  though  in  this  case  they  had  the  dead  man's 
clothes  ready  to  their  hands — the  leader's  boast  that  im 
personation  was  but  child's  play  to  them !  And  now  he 
understood  why  they  had  covered  up  the  traces  of  their 
search  in  only  so  curiously  inadequate  a  manner.  They  had 
failed  to  find  the  package,  and,  as  a  last  resort,  had  adopted 
the  ruse  of  impersonating  Hilton  Travers,  the  chauffeur, 
which  made  it  necessary  that  when  they  called  Spider  Jack 
from  his  bed,  as  they  had  just  done,  that  Spider  Jack,  at  a 
casual  glance,  should  notice  nothing  amiss — but  it  would  be 
no  more  than  a  casual  glance,  for,  who  should  know  better 
than  they,  he  would  not  have  to  go  for  the  package  to  any 
place  that  they  had  disturbed !  And  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  could 
only  stand  here  and  watch  them,  helpless,  powerless  to  move ! 
Three  of  them !  A  step  out  into  the  room  was  to  invite  cer 
tain  death.  It  would  not  matter,  his  death — if  he  could  gain 
anything  for  her,  for  the  Tocsin,  by  it.  But  what  could  he 
gain — by  dying?  He  clenched  his  hands  until  the  nails  bit 
into  the  flesh. 

Spider  Jack  reentered  the  room,  carrying  what  looked  like 
a  large,  bulky,  manila  envelope,  heavily  sealed,  in  his  hand. 
He  tossed  it  on  the  table. 

"  There  you  are,  Travers  !  "  he  said. 

"  I  wonder,"  suggested  the  leader  pleasantly,  "  if,  now  that 
we're  here,  Travers,  your  friend  would  mind  letting  us  have 
this  room  for  a  few  minutes  to  ourselves  to  clean  up  the  busi 
ness  ?  " 

"  Sure !  "  agreed  Spider  Jack  cordially.  "  You're  welcome 
;o  it !  I'll  wait  out  here  in  the  store  until  you  say  the  word." 

He  went  out,  closing  the  door  after  him.  The  leader 
picked  up  the  package. 

"  We'll  take  no  chances  with  this,"  he  said  grimly.    "  It's 


432    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

loeen  too  close  a  call.  After  we've  had  a  look  at  it.,  we'll  put 
it  out  of  harm's  way  on  the  spot,  here,  while  we've  got  it— • 
before  we  leave! " 

He  ripped  the  package  open,  and  disclosed  perhaps  a  dozen 
official-looking  documents,  besides  a  miscellaneous  number  of 
others.  He  took  up  the  first  of  the  papers,  glanced  through 
it  hurriedly,  then  tossed  it  to  the  pseudo  chauffeur. 

"  Tear  it  up,  and  tear  it  up — small! "  he  ordered  tersely. 
The  next,  after  examining  it  as  he  had  the  first,  he  tossed 
to  the  other  man.  "  Go  ahead !  " — curtly.  "  Work  fast ! 
From  the  looks  of  these,  Travers  had  us  cold !  There's 
proof  enough  here  of  LaSalle's  murder  to  send  us  all  to  the 
chair!" 

He  went  on  glancing  through  the  documents;  and  then 
suddenly,  joining  the  others  in  their  work,  began  to  rip  and 
tear  at  the  papers  himself. 

A  sort  of  cold  horror  had  settled  upon  Jimmie  Dale,  and 
his  forehead  was  clammy  wet.  The  inhuman  irony  of  it! 
That  he  should  stand  there  and  watch,  impotent  to  prevent 
it,  the  destruction  of  what  he  would  have  given  his  life  to 
secure!  And  then  slowly,  a  grim,  hard,  merciless  smile 
came  to  his  lips.  He  had  recognised  the  leader's  voice — • 
now  he  would  recognise  the  leader's  face.  At  least,  that  was 
left  to  him — perhaps  the  master  trump  of  all.  It  would  not 
be  very  hard  to  find  the  Crime  Club  now — with  that  man 
to  lead  the  way ! 

The  scraps  of  paper,  tiny  shreds,  mounted  into  a  heap  on 
the  table — and  with  the  last  of  the  contents  of  the  package 
destroyed,  the  leader  stood  up. 

"  Put  these  pieces  in  your  pockets ;  we  don't  want  to  leave 
them  here,"  he  directed  quietly.  "  And  then  let's  get  out." 

In  scarcely  a  moment,  the  last  scrap  of  paper  had  vanished. 
The  three  men  walked  to  the  door,  passed  through  it,  and 
joined  Spider  Jack  in  the  store — and  Jimmie  Dale,  slipping 
out  from  behind  the  curtain,  gained  the  door  of  the  rear 
room,  crept  through  it,  reached  the  stoop,  and  then,  darting 
like  the  wind  across  the  yard,  was  over  the  fence  in  a  second, 
and  in  another  was  out  of  the  alleyway  and  on  the  street. 


JOHN  JOHANSSON— FOUR-TWO-EIGHT   433 

He  was  in  time — in  plenty  of  time.  They  had  just  left 
Spider  Jack's,  and  were,  perhaps,  fifty  yards  or  so  ahead  of 
him.  He  slouched  on  behind  them — the  cold,  grim  smile  on 
his  lips  once  more.  It  was  the  Crime  Club  now,  that  hell's 
cradle  where  their  devil's  schemes  were  hatched,  that  was 
the  one  thing  left  to  him ;  they  would  lead  him  to  that,  and 
then — and  then  it  would  be  his  turn  to  strike! 

They  turned  the  first  corner.  And  suddenly,  as  the  racing 
engine  of  an  automobile  caught  his  ear,  he  broke  into  a  runv 
and  dashed  around  the  corner  after  them — in  time  to  see 
them  jump  into  a  car,  and  the  car  speed  off  along  the  street ! 
He  halted,  as  though  he  were  suddenly  dazed — started  in 
voluntarily  to  run  forward  again — stopped,  with  a  hollow 
laugh  at  the  futility  of  it — and  stood  still  and  motionless 
on  the  sidewalk. 

And  then  he  swayed  a  little,  and  his  face  grew  gray. 
Failure,  defeat,  ruin — in  that  moment  he  knew  them  all  to 
their  bitterest  dregs.  How  could  he  go  to  her !  How  could 
he  face  her,  and  tell  her  that  they  were  beaten,  that  the 
last  hope  was  gone,  that  he  had  failed ! 

"  God !  "  he  cried  aloud,  and  clenched  his  hands. 

Then  deep  in  his  consciousness  a  thought  stirred,  and  he 
swept  a  shaking  hand  across  his  eyes.  Why  had  it  come 
again,  that  thought!  Did  it  mean  that  he  must  play — the 
last  card !  There  was  a  way — there  had  always  been  a  way. 
The  way  the  Crime  Club  took — murder.  It  was  their  own 
weapon!  If  the  man  who  posed  as  Henry  LaSalle  were 
killed  !  If  that  man — were  killed ! 

"  The  Magpie  was  to  be  there  at  three !  "  he  muttered-  -? 
and  started  mechanically  back  along  the  street 


CHAPTER  XIISl 

THE  ONLY  WAY 

'jf  T  was  a  horrible  thing — and  it  grew  upon  him.  In  a  blind. 
mechanical  way,  his  brain  receptive  to  nothing  else, 
Jimmie  Dale  walked  on  along  the  street.  To  kill  a  man! 
Death  he  had  faced  himself  a  hundred  times,  witnessed  it  a 
hundred  times  in  its  most  violent  forms,  had  seen  murder 
done  before  his  eyes,  had  been  in  straits  where,  to  save  his 
own  life,  it  had  seemed  the  one  last  desperate  chance — and 
yet  his  hands  were  still  clean !  To  kill  a  man  in  fair  fight,  in 
struggle,  when  the  blood  was  hot,  was  terrible  enough,  a 
possibility  that  was  always  before  him,  the  one  thing  from 
which  he  shrank,  the  one  thing  that,  as  the  Gray  Seal,  he  had 
always  feared ;  but  to  kill  a  man  deliberately,  to  creep  upon 
his  victim  with  hideous,  cold-blooded  premeditation — he 
shivered  a  little,  and  his  hand  shook  as  he  drew  it  nervously 
across  his  eyes. 

But  there  was  no  other  way !  Again  and  again,  insidiously 
grappling  with  his  revulsion,  with  the  horror  that  the  impulse 
to  murder  inspired,  came  that  other  thought — there  was  no 
other  way.  If  the  man  who  posed  as  Henry  LaSafle  were 
dead!  If  he  were  dead !  If  he  were  dead !  See,  now,  what 
would  happen  if  that  man  were  dead!  How  clear  his  brain 
was  on  that  point!  The  whole  plot  would  tumble  like  a 
house  of  cards  about  the  heads  of  the  Crime  Club.  Hie 
courts  would  require  an  auditing  of  the  estate  by  a  trustee 
of  the  courts'  own  appointing,  who  would  continue  to  ad 
minister  it  until  the  Tocsin's  twenty-fifth  birthday,  or  until 
there  was  tangible  evidence  of  her  death — but  the  Tocsin, 
automatically  with  her  pseudo  uncle's  death,  could  publicly 
appear  again.  Her  death  could  no  longer  benefit  the  Criro* 

434 


THE  ONLY  WAY  435 

Club,  since  it,  the  Crime  Club,  with  the  supposed  uncle  dead, 
could  not  profit  through  the  false  Henry  LaSalle  inheriting 
as  next  of  kin !  It  was  the  weak  link,  the  vulnerable  point 
in  the  stupendous  scheme  of  murder  and  crime  with  which 
these  hell  fiends  had  played  for  and  won,  so  far,  the  stake 
of  eleven  millions.  Not  that  they  had  overlooked  or  been 
blind  to  this,  they  were  too  clever,  too  cunning  for  that — it 
was  only  that  they  had  planned  to  accomplish  the  Tocsin's 
death,  as  they  had  her  father's  and  uncle's,  and  establish  the 
false  Henry  LaSalle  in  undisputed  possession  and  ownership 
of  the  estate — and  had  failed  in  that — up  to  the  present. 
But  the  material  results  remained  the  same,  so  long  as  the 
Tocsin,  to  save  her  life,  was  forced  to  remain  in  hiding,  so 
k>ng  as  proof  that  would  convict  the  Crime  Club  was  not 
forthcoming — so  long  as  that  man  lived! 

Time  passed  to  which  Jimmie  Dale  was  oblivious.  At 
times  he  walked  slowly,  scarcely  moving;  at  times  his  pace 
Was  a  nervous,  hurried  stride,  that  was  almost  a  run.  And 
As  he  was  oblivious  to  time,  so  was  he  oblivious  to  his  sur 
roundings,  to  the  direction  which  he  took.  At  times  his 
forehead  was  damp  with  moisture  that  was  not  there  from 
physical  exertion ;  at  times  his  face,  deathly  white,  was  full 
as  of  the  vision  of  some  shuddering,  abhorrent  sight;  at 
times  his  lips  were  thinned  into  a  straight  line,  and  there  was 
a  glitter  in  the  dark  eyes  that  was  not  good  to  see,  while  his 
hands  at  his  sides  clenched  until  the  skin,  tight  over  the 
knuckles,  was  an  ivory  white.  To  kill  a  man ! 

What  other  way  was  there  ?  The  proof  that  it  had  takep 
Hilton  Travers  years  to  obtain,  the  proof  on  which  the 
Tocsin's  life  depended,  was  destroyed  utterly,  irreparably. 
It  could  never  be  duplicated — Hilton  Travers  was  dead — 
murdered.  Murder !  That  thought  again !  It  was  their  own 
weapon!  Murder!  Would  one  kill  a  venomous  reptile  in 
whose  fangs  was  death?  What  right  had  this  man  to  life, 
whose  life  was  forfeit  even  under  the  law — for  murder? 
Was  she  to  drag  on  an  intolerable  existence  among  the  dregs 
and  the  scum  of  the  underworld,  she,  in  her  refinement  and 
-her  purity,  to  exist  among  the  vile  and  dissolute,  in  daily 


436    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

hourly  peril  of  her  life,  because  the  weapons  that  these  in 
human  vultures  had  used  to  rob  her,  to  destroy  those  she 
loved,  to  make  of  her  life  a  hideous,  joyless  thing,  should 
not  be  used  against  them  ? 

But  to  kill  a  man !  To  steal  upon  a  man  with  cold  intent 
in  the  blackness  of  the  night — and  take  his  life!  To  be  a 
murderer !  To  know  the  horror  of  blood  forever  upon  one's 
hands,  to  rise,  cold-sweated,  in  the  night,  fearful  of  the  very 
shadows  around  one,  to  live  with  every  detail  of  that  fear 
some  act  sweeping  like  some  dread  spectre  at  unexpected 
moments  upon  the  consciousness !  He  put  up  his  hands  be 
fore  his  face,  as  though  to  blot  out  the  thought  from  him. 
Mind  and  soul  recoiled  before  it — to  kill  a  man! 

He  walked  on  and  on,  until  at  last,  conscious  of  a  sense  of 
fatigue,  he  stopped.  He  must  have  come  a  long  way,  been 
walking  a  long  time.  Where  was  he  ?  He  looked  about  him 
for  a  moment  in  a  dazed  way — and  suddenly,  with  a  low 
cry,  shrank  back.  As  though  he  had  been  drawn  to  it  by 
some  ghastly  magnet,  he  found  himself  standing  in  front  of 
the  LaSalle  mansion,  on  Fifth  Avenue.  No,  no ;  it  was  not 
for  that  he  had  come — to  kill  a  man !  It  was  only — only  to 
get  that  money.  Yes — he  remembered  now — that  money 
from  the  safe,  before  the  Magpie  got  it.  The  Magpie  was 
to  be  there  at  three  o'clock — and  the  Tocsin  was  to  be  there, 
too.  The  Tocsin !  That  package !  He  had  failed !  It  had 
been  her  one  hope,  and — and  it  was  gone.  What  could  he 
say  to  her?  How  could  he  tell  her  the  miserable  truth? 
But — but  he  had  not  come  there  in  the  dead  of  night  to  kill 
a  man,  these  other  things  were  what  had 

"  Jimmie !  "  It  was  a  quick-breathed  whisper.  A  hand 
was  on  his  arm. 

He  turned,  startled.     It  was  the  Tocsin — Silver  Mag. 

"  Jimmie !  "  in  alarm.  "  Why  are  you  standing  here  like 
this ?  You  may  be  seen! " 

Seen!    Suppose  he  -were  seen?    He  shuddered  a  little. 

"  Yes  ;  that's  so !  "  he  said  hoarsely.  He  glanced  numbly 
tip  and  down  the  wide,  deserted,  but  well-lighted,  avenue, 
Ji  was  no  place,  that  most  aristocratic  section  of  the  city,  fot 


THE  ONLY  WAY  487 

such  as  Silver  Mag  and  Larry  the  Bat  to  be  seen  at  that 
hour  of  night,  or,  rather,  morning.  And  if  anything  hap 
pened  inside  that  house !  "  I — I  didn't  think  of  that,"  he 
said  mechanically. 

"  Come  across  the  street — under  the  stoop  of  that  house 
there."  She  had  his  arm,  and  was  half  dragging  him  as  she 
spoke,  the  alarm  in  her  voice  intensified.  And  then,  a  mo 
ment  later,  safe  from  observation :  "  Jimmie,  Jimmie,  what 
is  the  matter?  What  has  happened?  What  makes  you  act 
so  strangelv  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  said.    "  I " 

"  Tell  me !  "  she  insisted  wildly. 

And  then,  with  a  violent  effort,  Jimmie  Dale  forced  his 
mind  back  to  the  immediate  present.  He  was  only  inspiring 
her  with  terror — and  there  was  the  Magpie — and  that  money 
in  the  safe! 

"  Where  is  the  Magpie  ? "  he  asked,  with  quick  appre 
hension.  "  Am  I  late  ?  Is  he  in  there  already  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said.    "  He  hasn't  come  yet." 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded  anxiously. 

"  About  half -past  two,"  she  replied.    "  But,  Jimmie " 

"  Wait !  "  he  broke  in.  "  Where  is  he  now  ?  You  were 
both  together!  And  you  were  both  to  be  here  at  three. 
What  are  you  doing  here  alone  at  half -past  two?" 

A  strange  little  exclamation,  one  almost  of  dismay,  it 
seemed,  escaped  her. 

"  The  Magpie  left  my  place  an  hour  ago — to  get  his  kit, 
I  think.  And  I  came  here  at  once  because  that  was  what 
you  and  I  understood  I  was  to  do,  wasn't  it?  Jimmie,  you 
frighten  me!  You  are  not  yourself.  Don't  you  remember 
the  last  words  you  said,  as  you  nodded  to  me  behind  the 
Magpie's  back — that  you  would  be  here  before  us?  There 
was  no  mistaking  your  meaning — if  I  could  get  away  from 
him,  I  was  to  come  here  and  meet  you." 

Jimmie  Dale  passed  his  hand  nervously  across  his  eyes. 
Of  course,  he  remembered  now  1  What  a  frightful  turmoil 
his  brain  had  been  in ! 


438    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Yes ;  of  course !  "  He  tried  to  speak  nonchalantly.  "  1 
had  forgotten  for  the  moment." 

She  caught  his  arm  in  a  quick,  tight  hold,  shaking  him  ki 
a  terrified  way. 

"  You — forget  a  thing  like  that !  Jimmie — something  ter 
rible  has  happened.  Can't  you  see  that  I  am  nearly  mad 
with  anxiety!  What  is  it?  What  is  it?  That  package, 
Jimmie — is  it  the  package?" 

He  did  not  answer.  What  could  he  say?  It  meant  life, 
hope,  joy,  everything  that  the  world  held  for  her — and  it 
was  gone. 

"  Yes — it  is  the  package !  "  she  whispered  frantically. 
"  Quick,  Jimmie !  Tell  me !  It — it  was  not  there  ?  You — • 
you  could  not  find  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  there,"  he  said,  as  though  the  words  were  literally 
forced  from  him. 

"  Then?  Then — what,  Jimmie?  "  The  clutch  on  his  arm 
was  like  a  vise. 

"  They  got  it,"  he  said.  It  was  like  a  death  sentence  that 
he  pronounced.  "  It  is  destroyed." 

She  did  not  speak  or  move — save  that  her  hands,  as  though 
nerveless  and  without  strength,  fell  away  from  his  arms,  and 
dropped  to  her  sides.  It  was  dark  there  under  the  stoop, 
though  not  so  dark  but  that  he  could  see  her  face.  It  was 
gray — gray  as  death.  And  there  was  misery  and  fear  and  a 
pitiful  helplessness  in  it — and  then  she  swayed  a  little,  and 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Gone !  "  she  murmured  in  a  dead,  colourless  way — and 
suddenly  laughed  out  sharply,  hysterically. 

"Don't!  For  God's  sake,  don't  do  that!"  he  pleaded 
wildly. 

She  looked  at  him  then  for  a  moment  in  strange  quiet— 
and  lifted  her  hand  and  stroked  his  face  in  a  numbed  way. 

"  It — it  would  have  been  better,  Jimmie,  wouldn't  it,"  she 
waid  in  the  same  monotonous  voice,  "  it  would  have  been 
better  if — if  I  had  never  found  out  anything,  and  they— 
they  had  done  the  same  to  me  that  they  did  to — to  father. " 

**  Marie !  Marie ! "     It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 


THE  ONLY  WAY  439 

spoken  her  name,  and  it  was  on  his  lips  now  in  an  agony  of 
tenderness  and  appeal.  "  Don't !  You  mustn't  speak  like 
that ! " 

"  I'm  tired,"  she  said.    "  I — I  can't  fight  any  more." 

She  did  not  cry.  She  lay  there  in  his  arms  quite  still- 
like  a  weary  child. 

The  minutes  passed.  When  Jimmie  Dale  spoke  again  it 
was  irrelevantly — and  his  face  was  very  white : 

"  Marie,  describe  the  upper  floor  of  that  house  over  there 
for  me." 

She  roused  herself  with  a  start. 

"  The  upper  floor  ?  "  she  repeated  slowly.  **  Why — why 
do  you  ask  that  ?  " 

"  Have  you  forgotten  in  turn  ? "  he  said,  with  a  steady 
smile.  "  That  money  in  the  safe — it's  yours — we  can  at 
least  save  that  out  of  the  wreck.  You  only  drew  the  base 
ment  plan  and  the  first  floor  for  the  Magpie — the  more  I 
know  about  the  house  the  better,  of  course,  in  case  anything; 
goes  wrong.  Now,  see,  try  and  be  brave — and  tell  me 
quickly,  for  I  must  get  through  before  the  Magpie  comes, 
and  I  have  barely  half  an  hour." 

"  No,  Jimmie — no !  "  She  slipped  out  of  his  arms.  "  Let 
it  alone !  I  am  afraid.  Something — I — I  have  a  feeling  that 
something  will  happen." 

"  It  is  the  only  way."  He  said  it  involuntarily,  more  to 
himself  than  to  her. 

"  Jimmie,  let  it  alone ! "  she  said  again. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  am  going — so  tell  me  quickly.  Every 
minute  that  we  wait  is  one  that  counts  against  us." 

She  hesitated  an  instant — and  then,  speaking  rapidly,  made 
a  verbal  sketch  of  the  upper  portion  of  the  house  for  him. 

"  It's  a  very  large  house,  isn't  it  ? "  he  commented  in 
nocently — to  pave  the  way  for  the  question,  above  all  others, 
that  he  had  to  ask.  "  Which  is  your  uncle's,  I  mean  that 
man's  room?" 

"  The  first  on  the  right,  at  the  head  of  the  landing,"  she 
answered.  "Only,  Jimmie,  don't — don't  go!" 

He  drew  her  close  to  him  again. 


440    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

"  Now,  listen,"  he  said  quietly.  "  When  the  Magpie  comes 
and  finds  I  am  not  here,  lead  him  to  think  that  the  money 
he  gave  me  was  too  much  for  me;  that  I  am  probably  in 
some  den,  doped  with  drug — and  hold  him  as  long  as  you 
can  on  the  pretext  that  there  is  always  the  possibility  I  may, 
after  all,  show  up  before  he  goes  in  there.  You  understand? 
And  now  about  yourself — you  must  do  exactly  as  I  say.  On 
no  account  allow  yourself  to  be  seen  by  any  one  except  the 
Magpie.  I  would  tell  you  to  go  now,  only,  unless  it  is  vitally 
necessary,  we  cannot  afford  to  arouse  the  Magpie's  suspicions 
«— -he'd  have  every  crook  in  the  underworld  snarling  at  our 
heels.  But  you  are  not  to  wait,  even  for  him,  if  you  detect 
the  slightest  disturbance  in  that  house  before  he  comes.  And, 
equally,  after  he  has  gone  in,  whether  I  have  come  out  or 
not,  at  the  first  indication  of  anything  unusual  you  are  to 
get  away  at  once.  You  understand — Marie?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said.    "  But— but,  Jimmie,  you " 

"  Just  one  thing  more."  He  smiled  at  her  reassuringly. 
*  Did  the  Magpie  say  anything  about  how  he  intended  to  get 
in?" 

"  Yes — bv  the  side  away  from  the  corner  of  the  street,** 
she  said  tremulously.  "  You  see,  there's  quite  a  space  be 
tween  the  house  and  the  one  next  door;  and,  besides,  the 
house  next  door  is  closed  up,  there's  nobody  there,  the  family 
has  gone  away  for  the  summer.  The  library  window  there 
is  low  enousrh  to  reach  from  the  ground." 

For  a  moment  longer  he  held  her  close  to  him,  as  though 
he  could  not  let  her  go — then  bent  and  kissed  her  passionately. 
And  in  that  moment  all  the  emotions  he  had  known  as  he  had 
walked  blindly  from  Spider  Jack's  that  night  surged  again 
upon  him  ;  and  that  voice  was  whispering,  whispering,  whis 
pering:  "  Tt  is  the  only  way — it  is  the  only  way." 

And  then,  not  daring  to  trust  his  voice,  he  released  her 
suddenly,  and  stepped  back  out  from  under  the  stoop — and 
the  next  instant  he  was  across  the  deserted  avenue.  An 
other,  and  he  had  slipped  through  the  iron  gates  that  opened 
on  the  street  driveway — and  in  yet  another  he  was  crouched 
close  up  against  the  front  door  of  the  LaSalle  mansion. 


THE  ONLY  WAY  441 

It  was:  a  large  house,  a  very  large  house,  one  of  the  few 
that,  even  amid  the  wealth  and  luxury  of  that  quarter, 
boasted  its  own  grounds,  and  those  so  restricted  as  scarcely 
to  deserve  the  name ;  but  it  was  set  far  enough  back  from 
the  street  to  escape  the  radius  of  the  street  lamps,  and  so 
guarantee  in  its  shadows  security  from  observation.  It  was 
not  the  Magpie's  way,  the  front  door — the  obvious  to  the 
Magpie  and  his  ilk  was  a  thing  always  to  be  shunned.  Jim- 
tnie  Dale's  lips  were  set  in  a  grim  smile,  as  his  fingers  worked 
with  lightning  speed,  now  taking  this  instrument  and  now 
that  from  the  leather  pockets  in  the  girdle  beneath  his  shirt — 
the  penitentiaries  were  full  of  Magpies  who  shunned  the 
obvious ! 

Very  slowly,  very  cautiously  the  door  opened.  He  listened 
breathlessly,  tensely.  The  door  closed  again — behind  him. 
He  was  inside  now.  Stillness!  Blackness!  Not  a  sound! 
A  minute  went  by — another.  And  then,  as  he  stood  there, 
strained,  listening,  the  silence  itself  began,  it  seemed,  to  palpi 
tate,  and  pound,  pound,  pound,  and  be  full  of  strange  noises 
ft  was  a  horrible  thing — to  kill  a  man  I 


CHAPTER  XIV 


A  MOMENT  later,  Jimmie  Dale  stepped  forward  through 
^^  the  vestibule.  He  was  quite  calm  now ;  a  sort  of  cold, 
merciless  precision  in  every  movement  succeeding  the  riot 
of  turbulent  emotions  that  had  possessed  him  as  he  had 
entered  the  house. 

The  half  hour,  the  maximum  length  of  time  before  the 
Magpie  would  appear,  as  he  had  estimated  it  when  out  there 
under  the  stoop  with  the  Tocsin,  had  dwindled  now  to  per 
haps  twenty  minutes,  twenty-five  at  the  outside.  Twenty- 
five  minutes !  Twenty-five  minutes  was  so  little  that  for  an 
instant  the  temptation  was  strong  upon  him  to  sacrifice, 
rather  than  any  of  those  precious  minutes,  the  Magpie  in 
stead  !  And  then  in  the  darkness,  as  he  stole  noiselessly 
across  the  hall,  he  shook  his  head.  It  would  be  a  cowardly, 
brutal  thing  to  do.  What  chance  would  a  man  with  a  record 
like  the  Magpie's  stand  if  caught  there?  How  easy  it  would 
be  to  "shift  the  murder  of  the  supposed  Henry  LaSalle  to 
the  Magpie's  shoulders !  Jimmie  Dale's  lips  closed  firmly. 
Self-preservation  was,  perhaps,  the  first  law,  but  he  would 
save  the  Magpie  if  he  could — the  Magpie  should  have  his 
chance !  The  man  might  be  a  criminal,  might  deserve  punish 
ment  at  the  hands  of  the  law*  his  liberty  might  be  a  menace 
to  the  community — but  he  was  not  a  murderer,  his  life  forfeit 
for  a  crime  he  had  never  committed! 

If  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  could  only  in  some  way  have  arranged 
with  the  Tocsin  out  there  to  keep  the  Magpie  away  alto 
gether!  But  it  could  not  be  done  without  arousing  the 
Magpie's  suspicions ;  and,  as  a  corollary  to  that,  afterwaN,, 
with  the  subsequent  events,  would  come — the  deluge?  The 

442 


OUT  OF  THE  DARKNESS  443 

few  of  the  underworld  was  clear,  concise,  and  admitting  of 
no  appeal  on  that  point ;  to  double  cross  a  pal  meant,  sooner 
or  later,  a  knife  thrust,  a  blackjack,  or But  what  dif 
ference  did  it  make  what  form  the  execution  of  the  sentence 
took?  And,  since,  then,  that  was  out  of  the  question,  since 
he  could  not  keep  the  Magpie  away  without  practically  risk- 
ing  his  own  life,  the  Magpie  at  least  must  have  his  chance. 

Jimmie  Dale  was  at  the  library  door  now,  that,  according 
to  the  plan  the  Tocsin  had  drawn  for  the  Magpie,  and  as  he 
remembered  her  description  when  she  had  told  him  her  story 
earlier  in  the  evening,  was  just  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 
How  dark  it  was!  Though  the  stairs  could  be  only  a  few 
feet  away,  he  could  not  see  them.  And  how  intense  the 
silence  was  again!  Here,  where  he  stood,  the  slightest 
stir  from  above  must  have  reached  him — but  there  was  not 
a  sound. 

His  hand  felt  out  for  the  doorknob,  found  it,  turned  it, 
tnd  pushed  the  door  open.  He  stepped  inside  the  room  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  The  safe,  according  to  the 
Tocsin's  plan  again,  was  in  that  sort  of  alcove  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  library.  Jimmie  Dale's  flashlight  played  in 
quisitively  about  the  room.  There  was  the  window,  the  only 
one  in  the  room,  the  window  through  which  the  Magpie 
proposed  to  enter ;  there  was  the  archway  of  the  alcove,  with 
its — no,  there  were  no  longer  any  portieres ;  and  there  was 
the  safe,  he  could  see  it  quite  plainly  from  where  he  stood 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  room. 

The  flashlight  went  out  for  the  space  of  perhaps  thirty 
seconds — thirty  seconds  of  absolute  silence,  absolute  still 
ness — then  the  round,  white  ray  of  the  light  again,  but  glisten* 
ing  now  on  the  nickel  knobs  and  dial  of  the  safe — and  Jim 
mie  Dale  was  on  his  knees  before  it. 

A  low,  scarcely  breathed  exclamation,  that  seemed  to 
mingle  anxiety  and  hesitation,  escaped  him.  He,  who  knew 
the  make  of  every  safe  in  the  country,  knew  this  one  for  its 
true  worth.  Twenty-five  minutes !  Could  he  open  it  in  that 
time,  let  alone  with  any  time  to  spare !  It  was  not  like  tne 
one  in  Spider  Jack's ;  it  was  the  kind  that  the  Magpie,  how- 


444    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

ever  clever  he  migh  be  in  his  own  way,  would  be  forced  to 
negotiate  with  "  soup,"  and,  with  the  attendant  noise,  double 
his  chance  of  discovery  and  capture — and  the  responsibility 
for  what  might  have  happened  upstairs!  No;  the  Magpie 
must  have  his  chance !  And,  besides,  the  money  in  the  safe 
apart,  why  should  not  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  have  his  own  chance, 
as  well  ?  All  this  would  help.  The  motive — robbery ;  the 
perpetrator,  there  was  grim  mockery  on  his  lips  now  as  the 
light  went  out  and  the  sensitive  fingers  closed  on  the  knob  of 
the  dial,  the  perpetrator — the  Gray  Seal.  It  would  afford 
excellent  food  for  the  violent  editorial  diatribes  under  which 
the  police  again  would  writhe  in  frenzy! 

Stillness  again!  Silence!  Only  a  low,  tense  breathing; 
only,  so  faint  that  it  could  not  be  heard  a  foot  away,  a 
curious  scratching,  as  from  time  to  time  the  supersensitive 
fingers  fell  away  from  the  dial  to  rub  upon  the  carpet — 
to  increase  even  their  sensitiveness  by  setting  the  nerves  to 
throbbing  through  the  skin  surface  at  the  tips.  And  then 
Jimmie  Dale's  head,  ear  pressed  close  against  the  safe  to 
catch  the  tumbler's  fall,  was  lifted — and  the  flashlight  played 
again  on  the  dial. 

"  Twenty-eight  and  a  quarter — left." 

How  fast  the  time  went — and  how  slowly !  Still  the  black 
shape  crouched  there  in  the  darkness  against  the  safe.  At 
times,  in  strange,  ghostly  flashes,  the  nickel  dial  with  the  ray 
upon  it  seemed  to  leap  out  and  glisten  through  the  surround 
ing  blackness ;  at  times,  the  quick  intake  of  breath,  as  from 
great  exertion ;  at  times,  faint,  musical  little  clicks,  as,  after 
abortive  effort,  the  dial  whirled,  preparatory  to  a  fresh 
attempt.  And  then,  at  last— a  gasp  of  relief : 

"  Ah ! " 

Came  the  sound,  barely  audible,  as  of  steel  sliding  in  well- 
oiled  grooves,  the  muffled  thud  of  metal  meeting  metal  as 
the  bolts  shot  back — and  the  heavy  door  swung  outward. 

Jimmie  Dale  stretched  his  cramped  limbs,  and  wiped  the 
moisture  from  his  face — then  set  to  work  again  upon  the 
inner  door.  This  was  an  easier  matter — far  easier.  Five 
minutes,  perhaps  a  little  more,  went  by — and  then  the  innei 


OUT  OF  THE  DARKNESS  443 

door  was  open,  and  the  flashlight's  ray  was  flooding  the  in 
terior  of  the  safe. 

A  queer  little  sound,  half  of  astonishment,  half  of  disap 
pointment,  issued  from  Jimmie  Dale's  lips.  There  was 
money  here,  a  great  deal  of  money,  undoubtedly,  but  there 
was  no  such  sum  as  he  had,  somehow,  fantastically  imagined 
from  the  Magpie's  evidently  overcoloured  story  that  there 
would  be ;  there  was  money,  ten  packages  of  banknotes 
neatly  piled  in  the  bottom  compartment — but  there  was  no 
half  million  of  dollars !  He  picked  up  one  of  the  packages 
hurriedly — and  drew  in  his  breath.  After  all,  there  was  a 
great  deal — the  notes  were  of  hundred-dollar  denomination, 
and  on  the  bottom  were  two  one-thousand-dollar  bills ! 
Calculated  roughly,  if  each  of  the  other  nine  packages  con 
tained  a  like  amount,  the  total  must  exceed  a  hundred  thou 
sand. 

And  now  Jimmie  Dale  began  to  work  with  feverish  haste. 
From  the  leather  girdle  inside  his  shirt  came  the  thin  metal 
insignia  case — and  a  gray  seal  was  stuck  firmly  on  the  dial 
knob  of  the  safe.  This  done,  he  tucked  away  the  packages 
of  banknotes,  some  into  his  pockets  and  some  inside  his  shirt ; 
and  then  quickly  ransacked  the  interior  of  the  safe,  flaunt- 
ingly  spilling  the  contents  of  drawers  and  pigeonholes  out 
upon  the  floor. 

He  stood  up,  and,  leaving  the  safe  door  wide  open,  walked 
back  across  the  room  to  the  window,  unfastened  the  catch, 
and  opened  the  window  an  inch  or  two.  The  way  was  open 
now  for  the  Magpie !  The  Magpie  would  have  no  need  to 
make  any  noise  in  forcing  an  entrance ;  he  would  be  able  to 
see  almost  at  a  glance  that  he  had  been  forestalled — by  the 
Gray  Seal ;  and  that,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  game 
was  up.  The  Magpie  had  his  chance !  If  the  Magpie  did  not 
take  the  hint  and  make  his  escape  as  noiselessly  as  he  had 
entered — it  was  his  own  fault !  He,  Jimmie  Dale,  had  given 
the  Magpie  his  chance. 

Jimmie  Dale  turned  from  the  window,  and  made  his  way 
out  of  the  library  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  leaving  the  library 
door  open  behind  him.  How  long  had  he  been?  Was  <* 


more  or  less  than  the  twenty-five  minutes?  He  did  not 
know — only,  as  yet,  the  Magpie  had  not  come,  and  now 
perhaps  it  did  not  make  so  much  difference. 

Where  was  he  going  now?  His  foot  was  on  the  first 
stair — and  suddenly  he  drew  it  back,  the  cold  sweat  burst 
ing  out  on  his  forehead.  Where  was  he  going  now  ?  "  The 
•first  room  on  the  right  at  the  head  of  the  landing.''  From 
his  inner  consciousness,  as  it  were,  the  answer,  in  all  the 
bald,  naked  horror  that  it  implied,  flashed  upon  him.  The 
first  room  on  the  right — that  man's  room !  God,  how  the 
darkness  and  the  stillness  began  to  palpitate  again,  and  sudv 
denly  seem  to  shriek  out  at  him  over  and  over  the  one, 
single,  ghastly  word — murder! 

It  had  been  with  him,  that  thought,  all  the  time  he  had 
been  working  at  the  safe;  but  it  had  been  there  then  only 
subconsciously,  like  some  heavy,  nameless  dread,  subjugated 
for  the  moment  by  the  work  he  had  had  to  do  which  had 
demanded  the  centred  attention  of  every  faculty  he  pos 
sessed.  But  now  the  moment  had  come  when  there  was 
only  that  before  him,  only  that,  nothing  else — only  that,  the 
man  upstairs  in  the  first  room  to  the  right  of  the  landing  1 

Why  did  he  hesitate?  Why  did  he  stand  there  while  the 
priceless  moments  before  daylight  came  were  passing?  The 
man  was  a  murderer,  a  blotch  on  society,  and,  his  life  already 
forfeited,  he  was  living  now  only  because  the  law  had  not 
found  him  out — the  man  was  a  criminal,  bloodstained — and 
his  life,  because  he  had  taken  her  father's  life  and  had  tried 
to  take  the  Tocsin's  own  life,  stood  between  her  and  every 
hope  of  happiness,  robbing  her  even  literally,  in  a  material 
sense,  of  everything  that  the  world  could  hold  for  her !  Why 
did  he  hesitate?  It  was  that  man's  life — or  hers!  It  was 
the  only  way! 

He  put  his  foot  upon  the  bottom  step  again — paused  still 
another  instant — and  then  began  stealthily  to  mount  the 
stairs.  The  darkness!  There  had  never  been,  it  seemed, 
such  darkness  before !  The  stillness — he  had  never  known 
silence  so  heavy,  so  full  of  strange,  premonitory  pulsings ; 
a  silence  that  seemed  so  incongruously  full  of  clamouring 


OUT  OF  THE  DARKNESS  447 

whispers  in  his  ears !  It  must  be  those  imagined  whispers 
that  were  affecting  his  nerve — for  now,  as  he  gained  the  land 
ing  and  slipped  his  automatic  from  his  pocket,  his  hand  was 
shaking  with  a  queer  twitching  motion. 

For  an  instant,  righting  for  his  self -composure,  he  stood 
striving  to  locate  his  surroundings  through  the  darkness. 
The  staircase  was  a  circular  one,  making  the  landing  nearly 
at  the  front  of  the  house,  and  rearward  from  this,  the 
Tocsin  had  said,  a  hallway  ran  down  the  centre,  with  rooms 
on  either  side.  The  first  room  to  the  right,  therefore,  should 
be  just  at  his  hand.  He  reached  out,  feeling  cautiously — 
there  was  nothing.  He  edged  to  the  right — still  nothing; 
edged  a  little  farther,  a  sense  of  bewilderment  growing  upon 
him,  and  finally  his  fingers  touched  the  wall.  It  was  very 
strange!  The  hallway  must  be  much  wider  than  he  had 
understood  it  to  be  from  what  she  had  said ! 

He  moved  along  now  straight  ahead  of  him,  his  hand  on 
the  wall,  feeling  for  the  door — and  with  every  step  his  be 
wilderment  increased.  Surely  there  must  be  some  mistake — 
perhaps  he  had  misunderstood !  He  had  come  fully  twice 
the  distance  that  one  would  expect — and  yet  there  was  no 
door.  Ah,  what  was  that  ?  His  fingers  closed  on  soft,  heavy 
velvet  hangings.  These  could  hardly  be  in  front  of  a  door, 
and  yet — what  else  could  it  be?  He  drew  the  hangings 
warily  apart,  and  felt  behind  them.  It  was  a  window;  but 
it  was  shuttered  in  some  way  evidently,  for  he  could  not  see 
out. 

Jimmie  Dale  stood  motionless  there  for  fully  a  minute. 
It  seemed  absurd,  preposterous,  the  conviction  that  was 
being  forced  home  upon  him — that  there  were  no  rooms  on 
the  right-hand  side  of  the  corridor  at  all!  But  that  was 
not  like  the  Tocsin,  accurate  always  in  the  most  minute  de 
tails.  The  room  must  be  still  farther  along.  He  was  tempted 
to  use  his  flashlight — but  that,  as  long  as  he  could  feel  his 
way,  was  an  unnecessary  risk.  A  flashlight  upstairs,  where 
a  sleeping-room  door  might  be  ajar,  or  even  wide  open, 
where  some  one  wakeful,  that  man  himself,  perhaps,  might 
see  it,  was  quite  another  matter  than  a  flashlight  in  the  closed 
and  deserted  library  below! 


448     THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

He  went  on  once,  more,  still  guiding  himself  by  a  light 
finger  touch  upon  the  wall,  passed  another  portiere  similar 
to  the  first,  and,  after  that,  another — and  finally  stopped  by 
bringing  up  abruptly  against  the  end  wall  of  the  house.  It 
was  certainly  very  strange !  There  were  no  rooms  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  corridor.  And  here,  hanging  across  the 
end  wall,  was  another  of  those  ubiquitous  velvet  portieres. 
He  parted  it,  and,  a  little  to  his  surprise,  found  a  window 
that  was  not  shuttered,  but  that,  instead,  was  heavily  barred 
by  an  ornamental  grille  work.  He  could  see  out,  however, 
and  found  that  he  was  looking  directly  out  from  the  rear  of 
the  house.  A  lamp  from  the  side  street  threw  what  was 
undoubtedly  the  garage  into  shadowy  outline,  and  he  made 
out  below  him  a  short  stretch  of  yard  between  the  garage 
and  the  house.  He  remembered  that  now  —she  had  described 
all  that  to  the  Magpie.  There  was  no  driveway  between  the 
front  and  the  rear.  The  house  being  on  the  corner,  the 
entrance  to  the  garage  was  directly  from  the  side  street. 
Yes,  she  had  described  all  that  exactly  as  it  was,  but — he 
dropped  the  portiere  and  faced  around,  carrying  his  hand  in 
a  nonplused  way  to  his  eyes — but  here,  upstairs,  within  the 
house,  it  was  not  as  she  had  said  it  was  at  all!  What  did 
it  mean?  She  could  not  have  blundered  so  egregiously  as 
that,  unless — he  caught  his  breath  suddenly — unless  she 
had  done  so  intentionally !  Was  that  it  ?  Had  she  surmised, 
formed  a  suspicion  of  what  was  in  his  mind,  of  what  he 
meant  to  do — and  taken  this  means  of  defeating  it?  If  so — 
well,  it  was  too  late  for  that  now  !  There  was  one  way — only 
one  way !  Whatever  the  cost,  whatever  it  might  mean  for 
him — there  was  only  one  way  out  for  her. 

His  flashlight  was  in  his  hand  now,  and  the  round,  white 
ray  shot  down  the  corridor — seemed  suddenly  to  falter  un 
steadily — swept  in  through  an  open  door  that  was  almost 
beside  him — and  then,  as  though  a  nerveless  hand  held  it, 
the  ray  dropped  and  played  shakily  on  the  toe  of  his  boot 
before  it  went  out. 

A  stifled  cry  rose  to  his  lips.  Something  cold,  like  a  hand 
of  ice,  seemed  to  clutch  at  his  h»art.  Those  portieres,  the 


OUT  OF  THE  DARKNESS  449 

wide,  richly  carpeted  corridor!  It  was  the  corridor  of  the 
night  before !  That  room  at  his  side  was  the  room  where  he 
had  seen  Hilton  Travers,  the  chauffeur,  dead,  lashed  in  a 
chair!  He  felt  the  sweat  beads  burst  out  anew  upon  his 
forehead. 
It  was  the  Crime 


RETRIBUTION 

IJIS  brain  seemed  to  whirl,  staggered  as  by  some  gigantic, 
ghastly  mockery.  The  Crime  Club!  Here!  He  had 
thought  to  creep  upon  that  man — and  he  had  run  blindly 
into  the  very  heart  and  centre  of  these  hell  fiends'  nest! 
Silently  he  stood  there,  holding  his  breath  as  he  listened 
now,  motionless  as  a  statue,  forcing  his  mind  to  think.  He 
remembered  that  last  night  his  impression  of  the  place  had 
been  that  it  was  more  like  some  great  private  mansion  than 
anything  else.  Well,  he  had  been  right,  it  seemed!  He 
could  have  laughed  aloud — sardonically,  hysterically.  It 
was  not  so  strange  now  that  there  were  no  rooms  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  corridor !  And  what  could  have  suited 
their  purpose  better,  what,  by  its  very  location,  its  unim 
peachable  character,  could  be  a  more  ideal  lair  for  them  than 
this  house  !  And  how  grimly  simple  it  was  now,  the  explana 
tion  !  In  the  five  years  that  the  false  Henry  LaSalle  had  been 
in  possession,  they  had  cunningly  remodelled  the  upper  flooi1 
— that  was  all !  It  was  quite  clear  now  why  the  man  never 
entertained — why  he  had  never  been  caught  or  found  or 
known  to  be  in  communication  with  his  fellow  conspirators ! 
It  was  no  longer  curious  that  one  might  watch  the  door  of 
the  house  for  months  at  a  stretch  and  go  unrewarded  for 
one's  pains,  as  the  Tocsin  had  done,  when  access  to  the  house 
by  those  who  frequented  it  was  so  easy  through  the  garage 
on  the  side  street — and  from  the  garage,  if  their  work  there 
was  in  keeping  with  their  clever  contrivances  within  the 
house,  by  an  underground  connection  into,  say,  the  cellar  z, 
basement ! 

430 


RETRIBUTION  451 

Again  Jimmie  Dale  checked  that  nervous,  unnatural  in 
clination  to  laugh  aloud.  Was  there  anything,  any  single 
incident,  any  single  detail  of  all  that  had  transpired,  that 
was  not  explained,  borne  out,  as  it  could  be  explained  and 
borne  out  in  no  other  way  save  that  the  Crime  Club  should 
be  no  other  than  this  very  house  itself  ?  It  was  the  exposi 
tion  of  that  favourite  theory  of  his — it  was  so  obvious  that 
therein  lay  its  security.  He  had  mocked  at  the  Magpie  not 
many  moments  before  on  that  score — and  now  it  was  the 
beam  in  his  own  eye !  It  was  so  obvious  now,  so  glaringly 
obvious,  that  the  Crime  Club  could  have  been  nowhere 
else ;  so  obvious,  with  every  word  of  the  Tocsin's  story  point- 
ing  it  out  like  a  signpost — and  he  had  not  seen  it ! 

And  then  suddenly  every  muscle  grew  strained  and  rigid. 
Was  there  some  one  in  the  corridor?  Was  it  some  one 
moving — or  was  it  only  fancy?  He  listened — while  he 
strained  his  eyes  through  the  darkness.  There  was  no 
'sound;  only  that  abnormal,  heavy  silence  that — yes,  he  re- 
membered  that,  too,  now — that  had  clung  about  him  last 
night  like  a  pall.  He  could  see  nothing,  hear  nothing — but 
intuitively,  bringing  a  cold  dismay,  the  greater  because  it 
was  something  unknown,  intangible,  he  felt  as  though  eyes 
were  upon  him,  that  even  in  the  darkness  he  was  being 
watched ! 

And  as  he  stood  there,  then,  slowly  there  crept  upon  Jim- 
mie  Dale  the  sense  of  peril  and  disaster.  It  was  not  intui 
tion  now — it  was  certainty.  He  was  trapped!  It  was  the 
part  of  a  fool  to  imagine  that  with  their  devil's  cunning,  their 
cleverness,  their  ingenuity,  he,  or  any  one  else,  could  enter 
that  house  unknown  to  its  occupants !  Had  he  made  electric 
contact  when  he  had  opened  the  front  door,  and  rung  a  sig 
nal  here,  perhaps,  upstairs — had  he  set  some  system  of 
alarm  at  work  when  he  had  touched  that  window?  What 
did  it  matter — the  details  that  had  heralded  his  entrance? 
He  was  certain  now  that  his  presence  in  the  house  was 
known.  Only,  why  had  they  left  him  so  long  without  attack  ? 
He  shook  his  head  with  a  quick,  impatient  movement.  That, 
too.  was  obvious!  He  was  under  observation.  Who  was 


452    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

he  ?  Why  had  he  come  ?  Was  he  simply  a  paltry  safe-tappet 
— or  was  he  one  whom  they  had  a  real  need  to  fear?  And 
then,  too,  there  might  well  be  another  reason.  It  was  far 
from  likely,  in  fact  unreasonable,  to  imagine  thai  "all  the 
men  he  had  seen  here  the  night  before  were  in  the  house 
now.  Not  many  of  them,  if  any,  would  live  here,  for  con- 
stant,  daily  coming  and  going,  even  through  the  garage, 
could  not  escape  notice;  and,  of  the  servants,  probably  a 
lesser  breed  of  criminal,  some  of  them,  at  least,  no  doubt, 
were  engaged  at  that  moment  in  watching  his  own  house  on 
Riverside  Drive!  There  was  even  the  possibility  that  the 
man  posing  as  Henry  LaSalle  was,  for  the  time  being,  here 
alone. 

He  shook  his  head  again.  He  could  hardly  hope  for  that 
— he  had  no  right  to  hope  for  anything  more  now  than  a 
struggle,  with  an  inevitably  fatal  ending  to  himself,  but  one 
in  which  at  least  he  could  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  possible, 
one  in  which,  perhaps,  he  might  pay  the  Tocsin's  score  with 
the  man  he  had  come  to  find!  If  he  could  do  that — well, 
after  all,  the  price  was  not  too  great ! 

There  were  no  tremours  of  the  muscles  now.  It  was  Jim- 
mie  Dale,  the  Gray  Seal,  every  faculty  alert,  tense,  keyed 
«p  to  its  highest  efficiency ;  the  brain  cool,  keen,  and  active — • 
fighting  for  his  life.  The  front  door  through  which  he  had 
entered  was  an  impossibility ;  but  there  was  the  window  in 
the  library  that  he  had  opened — if  they  would  let  him  get  that 
far!  That  was  as  good  a  chance  as  any.  If  he  made  an 
effort  to  find,  say,  a  way  to  the  flat  above  and  chanced  some 
means  of  escape  there,  it  would  in  no  wise  obviate  an  attack 
upon  him,  and  he  would  only  be  under  the  added  disad 
vantage  of  unfamiliar  surroundings. 

Feeling  out  with  his  left  hand,  his  automatic  thrown  a 
little  forward  in  his  right,  he  began  to  retrace  his  way  along 
the  blank  wall  of  the  corridor,  pausing  between  each  step  to 
listen,  moving  silently,  his  tread  on  the  heavy  carpet  aa 
noiseless  as  though  it  were  some  shadow  creeping  there. 

Stillness — utter,   absolute!     Always   that   stillness.     Al- 
that  sense  of  danger  around  him — the  tense,  bated 


RETRIBUTION  453 

expectancy  of  momentary  attack — a  revolver  flash  through 
the  darkness — a  sudden  rush  upon  him.  But  still  there  was 
nothing — only  the  darkness,  only  the  silence. 

He  gained  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  began  to  descend — • 
and  now  the  strain  began  to  tell  upon  his  nerves  again. 
Again  he  was  possessed  of  the  mad  impulse  to  cry  out,  to 
do  anything  that  would  force  the  issue,  that  would  end  the 
horrible,  unbearable  suspense.  Why  did  that  revolver  shot 
not  come?  Why  had  they  not  yet  rushed  upon  him?  Why 
were  they  playing  with  him  as  a  cat  with  a  mouse?  Or 
was  it  all  wild,  fanciful  imagination?  No!  What  was  that 
again !  He  could  have  sworn  this  time  that  he  had  heard  a 
sound,  but  he  could  neither  define  its  character,  nor  locate 
the  direction  from  which  it  had  come. 

He  was  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  now  ;  and,  guiding  himself 
by  the  wall,  moving  now  barely  an  inch  at  a  time,  he  reached 
the  library  door  that  he  had  left  open,  and  stole  in  over  the 
threshold.  Halfway  down  the  room  and  diagonally  across 
from  where  he  stood  was  the  window.  In  a  moment  now  he 
could  gain  that,  but  they  would  never  let  him  go  so  easily — 
and  so  it  must  come  now,  in  that  next  moment,  their  attack ! 
Where  were  they  ?  Where  were  they  now  ?  The  table — he 
must  remember  not  to  bump  into  the  table!  A  pause  be 
tween  each  step,  he  was  crossing  the  room.  He  was  half 
way  to  the  window.  Had  it  been  all  fancy,  was  he  to 

And  then  Jimmie  Dale  stood  motionless.  Some  one  had 
closed  the  library  door  softly! 

Stillness  again !  A  sort  of  deadly  calm  upon  him,  Jimmie 
Dale  felt  out  behind  his  back  for  the  big  library  table  that 
he  had  been  circuiting — if  the  window  were  wide  open  it 
might  be  done,  but  to  jump  for  it  and  stand  silhouetted  there 
during  the  pause  necessary  to  fling  the  window  up  was  little 
less  than  suicidal.  He  edged  back  noiselessly  until  his  fin 
gers  touched  the  table ;  then,  lowering  himself  to  his  knees, 
he  backed  in  underneath  it,  and  lay  flat  upon  the  floor.  It 
was  not  much  protection,  but  it  had  one  advantage :  if  they 
switched  on  the  lights  it  would  show  an  empty  room  for  the 
first  instant,  and  that  instant  meant — the  first  shot ! 


454    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

Where  were  they  now  ?  By  the  library  door  ?  How  man/ 
of  them  were  there  ?  Well,  it  was  their  move !  Two  could 
play  at  cat  and  mouse  until — until  daylight!  That  wasn't 
very  far  off,  now,  and  when  that  came  he  might  still  hav« 
the  first  shot,  but  after  that — he  turned  his  head  quickly 
toward  the  window.  There  was  a  faint  scratching  noise 
as  of  finger  nails  gripping  the  sill ;  then  the  window,  very 
slowly,  almost  silently,  was  pushed  steadily  upward,  and  a 
dark  form  loomed  up  outside ;  and  then,  crawling  through,  a 
man  dropped,  as  though  his  feet  were  padded  like  a  cat'ii. 
on  the  floor  inside  the  room.  The  Magpie ! 

A  flashlight's  ray  shot  out — and,  with  a  twisted  smile, 
propped  now  on  his  left  elbow  to  give  free  play  to  his  re 
volver  arm,  Jimmie  Dale  followed  the  white  spot  eagerly 
with  his  eyes.  But  it  did  not  circle  around ;  instead,  the  light 
was  turned  almost  instantly  toward  the  lower  end  of  the  room 
— and,  a  second  later,  was  holding  steadily  on  the  open  door 
of  the  safe,  and  the  litter  of  papers  on  the  floor. 

Came  a  savage  growl  of  amazed  fury  from  the  Magpie : 
then  his  step  down  the  room ;  and,  as  he  reached  the  safe, 
a  torrent  of  unbridled  blasphemy — and  then,  in  a  sort  of 
staggered  gasp,  as  he  leaned  suddenly  forward  examining 
the  knob  of  the  dial : 
"  The  Gray  Seal !  " 

A  moment  the  Magpie  stood  there;  and  then,  cursing 
again  in  abandon,  turned,  and  started  back  for  the  window, 
his  flashlight  dancing  before  him — and  stopped,  a  snarl  of 
fury  on  his  lips.  The  flashlight  was  playing  full  on  Jimmie 
Dale  under  the  table ! 

"  Larry  the  Bat !    The  Gray  Seal !    By  God  !  "  choked  tlw 

Magpie.      "  You — you "     The   Magpie's   flashlight,   as 

he  shifted  it  from  his  right  hand  to  his  left  and  wrenched 
out  his  revolver,  had  fallen  upon  two  men  crouched  close 
against  the  wall  by  the  library  door — and  he  screamed  out  in 
an  access  of  fury.  "  De  double  cross  !  A  plant !  De  bulls ! 
You  damned  snitch,  Larry!"  screamed  out  the  Magpie- * 
and  fired. 

The    bullet    tore   into   the  carpet  beside   Jimmie   Dak, 


RETRIBUTION  455 

Came  answering-  shots  from  the  men  by  the  door ;  and  then 
the  Magpie,  emptying  his  automatic  at  the  two  men  as  he 
ran,  the  flame  tongues  cutting  vicious  lanes  of  fire  through 
the  darkness,  dashed  for  the  window.  There  was  a  cry,  the 
crash  of  a  heavy  body  pitching  to  the  floor — and  the  Magpie 
had  flung  himself  out  through  the  window,  and  in  the  mo 
mentary  ensuing  silence  within  the  room  came  the  sound  of 
his  footsteps  running  on  the  gravel  below. 

There  was  a  low  moan,  the  movement  as  of  some  one 
staggering  and  lurching  around — and  then  the  lights  went 
on.  But  for  an  instant  Jimmie  Dale  did  not  move.  He 
was  staring  at  the  form  of  a  man  still  and  motionless  on  the 
floor  in  front  of  him — the  man  who  had  posed  as  Henry 
LaSalle.  Dead!  The  man  was  dead!  His  mind  ran  riot 
for  a  moment.  Where  were  the  others — were  there  only 
these  two  ?  Only  these  two  in  the  house !  Only  these  two — • 
and  one  was  dead !  And  then  Jimmie  Dale  was  on  his  feet. 
One  was  dead — but  there  was  still  the  other,  the  man  who 
was  reeling  there,  back  turned  to  him,  by  the  electric-light 
switch.  But  even  as  Jimmie  Dale  sprang  forward,  this  sec 
ond  man,  clawing  at  the  wall  for  support,  slipped  to  his 
knees  and  fell  upon  the  carpet. 

Jimmie  Dale  reached  him,  snatched  the  revolver  from  his 
hand,  and  bent  over  him.  It  was  the  man  whose  name  he  did 
not  know,  but  whose  face  he  had  reason  enough  to  know  too 
well — it  was  the  leader  of  the  Crime  Club. 

The  man,  though  evidently  badly  wounded,  smiled  de 
fiantly  in  spite  of  his  pain. 

"  So  you're  the  Gray  Seal !  "  he  flung  out  contemptuously. 
"  A  clever  enough  safe-cracker — but  only  a  lowbrow,  like 
the  rest  of  them.  Another  illusion  dispelled !  Well,  you've 
got  the  money — better  run,  hadn't  you  ?  n 

Jimmie  Dale  made  no  answer.  Satisfied  that  the  man  was 
too  badly  hurt  to  move,  he  went  and  bent  over  the  silent  form 
in  the  centre  of  the  room.  A  moment's  examination  was 
enough.  "  Henry  LaSalle  "  was  dead. 

He  stood  there  looking  down  at  the  man.  It  was  what  he 
'*iad  come  for — though  it  was  the  Magpie,  not  himself,  who 


456    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

had  accomplished  it !  The  man  was  dead !  The  words  be- 
gan  to  run  through  his  mind  in  a  queer  reiteration.  The 
man  was  dead — the  man  was  dead !  He  checked  himself 
sharply.  He  must  think  now — think  fast,  and  think  right. 
The  Magpie  knew  that  Larry  the  Bat  was  the  Gray  Seal 
— and  as  fast  as  the  Magpie  could  get  there,  the  news  would 
spread  like  wildfire  through  the  underworld.  "  Death  to  the 
Gray  Seal !  Death  to  the  Gray  Seal !  "  He  could  her.r  that 
slogan  ringing  again  in  his  ears,  but  as  he  had  never  heard 
it  before — with  a  snarl  of  triumph  now  as  of  wolves  who 
at  last  had  pulled  their  quarry  down.  He  had  not  a  second 
to  spare — and  yet — that  man  wounded  there  on  the  floor! 
What  of  him — guilty  of  murder,  the  brains  of  this  inhuman, 
monstrous  organisation,  the  one  to  whom,  more  even  than 
to  that  dead  man,  the  Tocsin  owed  the  horror  and  the 
misery  and  the  grief  and  despair  that  had  come  into  her  life! 
What  of  him?  What  of  the  Crime  Club  here?  What  of 
this  nest  of  vipers?  Were  they  to  escape?  Were  they 

With  a  sudden,  low  exclamation,  Jimmie  Dale  jumped  for 
the  table,  and,  snatching  up  the  telephone,  rattled  the  hook 
violently. 

"  Give  me " — his  voice  came  in  well-simulated  gasps, 
each  like  a  man  fighting  for  every  word — "  give  me — police 
— headquarters!  Quick!  Quick!  I've — been — shot!" 

The  wounded  man  on  the  floor  raised  himself  on  his  el* 
bow. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  demanded  in  a  startled  way. 
"  Are  you  mad !  Thank  your  stars  you  were  lucky  enough 
to  get  out  of  this  alive — and  get  out  now,  while  you  have  the 
chance ! " 

Jimmie  Dale  pressed  his  hand  firmly  over  the  mouth 
piece  of  the  telephone. 

"  I'll  go,"  he  said,  with  a  cold  smile,  "  when  I've  settled 
with  you — for  the  murder  of  Henry  LaSalle." 

"  That  man !  "  ejaculated  the  man  scornfully,  pointing  to 
the  form  on  the  floor.  "  So  that's  your  game !  Going  to  try 
and  cover  your  tracks!  Why,  you  fool,  I  live  herel  Do 


RETRIBUTION 

you  think  the  police  would  imagine  for  an  instant  that  I 
killed  him  ?  " 

"  I  said — Henry  LaSalle,"  said  Jimmie  Dale  evenly. 

The  man  came  farther  up  on  his  elbow,  a  sudden  look  of 
fear  in  his  face. 

"  What — what  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  cried  hoarsely. 

But  Jimmie  Dale  was  talking  again  into  the  telephone- 
gasping,  choking  out  his  words  as  before : 

"Police  headquarters?  I'm  Henry  LaSalle.  Fifth  Ave 
nue.  I — I've  been  shot.  Take  down  this  statement.  I'll — • 
I'll  be  dead  before  you  get  here — I'm  not  the  real  Henry 
LaSalle  at  all.  We  murdered  Henry  LaSalle — in  Australia, 
and  murdered  Peter  LaSalle  here.  We — we  tried  to  kill 
the  daughter,  but  she  ran  away.  This  house  has  been  our 
headquarters  for  the  last  five  years.  The  man  who  shot  me 
to-night  is  the  leader  of  the  gang.  We  quarrelled  over  the 
division  of  a  haul.  He's  here  on  the  floor  now,  wounded. 
Get  them  all,  get  them  all,  damn  them! — do  you  hear? — get 
them  all !  They're  out  of  the  house  now,  but  lay  a  trap  f 01 
them.  They  always  come  in  through  the  garage  on  the  side 
street.  Oh,  God,  I'm  done  for!  Break  down  the  west 
walls  of  the  rooms  upstairs — if — you — want  proof  of  what 
•— the  gang's  been  doing.  Hurry !  Hurry !  I'm — I'm — done 
for— I " 

Jimmie  Dale  permitted  the  telephone  to  drop  with  a  clash 
from  his  hand  to  the  table. 

The  face  of  the  man  on  the  floor  was  livid. 

"  Who  are  you?  In  God's  name,  who  are  you? "  he  cried 
out  wildly. 

"  Does  it  matter?  "  inquired  Jimmie  Dale  grimly.  "  Youf 
game  is  up.  You'll  go  to  the  chair  for  the  murder  of  '  Henry 
LaSalle ' — if  it  is  by  proxy !  Those  rooms  upstairs  alone 
are  enough  to  damn  you,  to  prove  every  word  of  that  dying 
M  confession  " — but  to-morrow,  added  to  it,  will  come  the 
;tory  of  Marie  LaSalle  herself." 

For  a  moment  the  man  hung  there  swaying  on  his  elbow, 
%fe  face  working  in  ghastly  fashion — and  then  suddenly, 
arith  a  strange  laugh,  he  carried  one  hand  swiftly  to  hit 


458    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

mouth — and  laughed  again — and  before  Jimmie  Dale  could 
reach  him  was  lifeless  on  the  floor. 

A  tiny  vial  rolled  away  upon  the  carpet.  Jimmie  Dale 
picked  it  up.  A  drop  or  two  of  liquid  still  remained  in  it — • 
colourless,  clear,  like  that  liquid  this  same  man  had  dropped 
into  the  rabbit's  mouth  the  night  before,  like  the  liquid  in 
the  glasses  they  had  carried  into  that  third  room,  like  the 
liquid  that  his  man  had  said  was  from  a  formula  of  their 
own,  that  was  instantaneous  in  its  action,  that  defied  detec 
tion  by  autopsy ! 

The  set,  stern  features  of  Jimmie  Dale  relaxed.  It  was 
justice — but  it  was  also  death.  In  a  surge  of  emotion,  the 
events  of  scarcely  more  than  twenty-four  hours,  began  to 
crowd  upon  him — and  then,  ominously  dominant,  above  all 
else,  that  slogan  of  the  underworld,  "  Death  to  the  Gray 
Seal !  "  came  ringing  once  more  in  his  ears.  It  brought 
him,  with  a  startled  movement  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes, 
to  a  realisation  of  his  own  desperate  position.  Yes,  yes, 
he  must  go !  The  way  was  clear  now  for  the  Tocsin — clear 
now  for  her ! 

He  dropped  the  vial  into  his  pocket,  and,  running  to  the 
safe,  quickly  scraped  the  gray  seal  from  the  dial's  knob; 
then  he  drew  the  packages  of  money  from  his  shirt  and 
pockets  and  tossed  them  on  the  floor  among  the  litter  of 
papers  already  there — she  would  get  it  back  again  when  it 
had  served  its  purpose,  it  would  be  self-evident  that  it  was 
the  proceeds  of  that  day's  sale  of  the  estate's  securities  over 
which  the  "  quarrel  "  had  occurred  ! 

And  now  the  window !  He  ran  to  it,  closed  it,  and 
locked  it;  then,  laying  the  revolver  he  had  taken  from  the 
leader  down  beside  the  man,  he  stepped  across  the  room 
again  and  drew  the  body  of  "  Henry  LaSalle  "  closer  to  the 
table — as  though  the  man  had  fallen  there  when  the  tele* 
phone  had  dropped  from  his  hand. 

It  was  done  now !  On  the  floor  beside  him  lay  each  man's 
weapon — and  both  of  the  revolvers  had  been  discharged 
several  times.  Jimmie  Dale  paused  on  the  library  threshold 
for  a  final  survey  of  the  room.  It  was  done !  The  way 


RETRIBUTION  450 

clear — for  her.  And  now  if  he  could  only  save  himself! 
There  was  no  chance  for  Larry  the  Bat !  Could  he  save — 
Jimmie  Dale! 

He  crossed  the  hall,  a  queer,  half-grim,  half-wistful 
smile  on  his  lips,  unlocked  the  front  door,  stepped  out, 
locked  it  behind  him — and  in  another  moment,  doubling 
around  the  corner,  was  running  along  like  a  hare  along 
the  side  street 


CHAPTER  XVI 

*fltATH    TO   THE    GRAY    SEAL!* 

IN  Jimmie  Dale  ran.  Across  on  Fourth  Avenue  he  swung 
on  a  car  that  took  him  to  Astor  Place.  Then  striking 
east  once  more,  making  a  detour  to  avoid  the  Bowery,  he 
ran  on  at  top  speed  again.  To  reach  the  Sanctuary,  not 
before  the  Magpie  should  have  spread  the  alarm,  that  was 
impossible,  but  to  reach  it  before  the  underworld  should  have 
had  time  to  recover  its  breath,  as  it  were,  before  the  under 
world  should  have  had  time  to  act — that  was  his  only  chanced 
The  Magpie  had,  at  the  outside,  a  start  of  fifteen  minutes: 
but  he,  Jimmie  Dale,  had  probably  retrieved  five  minutes  of 
that  in  the  time  he  had  made  in  getting  downtown.  That 
left  the  Magpie  ten  to  the  good.  How  long  would  it  take  the 
Magpie  to  bring  the  underworld  swarming  like  hornets 
around  the  Sanctuary? 

On  Larry  the  Bat  ran.  At  the  Sanctuary  were  the  clothes, 
the  belongings  of  Jimmie  Dale.  Could  he  save  Jimmie  Dale  I 
If  he  could  get  there,  change,  and  get  out  again,  the  way 
was  clear  for  him — as  clear  as  for  the  Tocsin  now.  In  a 
few  hours  the  police  would  have  every  member  of  the  Crime 
Club  in  the  trap ;  there  would  be  no  watch  any  more  around 
his  house  on  Riverside  Drive;  and  he  would  be  free  to 
return  there  and  resume  his  normal  life  ?.s  Jimmie  Dale  again 
if  he  could  make  the  Sanctuary  in  time !  But  let  the  Mag 
pie  get  there  first,  let  the  underworld  tear  the  place  to  pieces 
in  its  fury  as  it  would  do,  let  them  discover  that  hiding  place 
under  the  flooring,  for  instance,  and  the  Gray  Seal  would 
not  be  merely  Larry  the  Bat,  but  Jimmie  Dale  as  well,  and— 
a  cry  escaped  him  even  as  he  ran — it  meant  ruin,  the  disgrace 
of  an  honoured  name,  death,  crimes  without  number  at  hk 

460 


"DEATH  TO  THE  GRAY  SEAL!"         461 

door.  Crimes!  The  Gray  Seal  had  never  committed  a 
crime !  But  the  crimes  attributed  to  the  Gray  Seal  he  could 
not  disprove,  not  one  of  them !  He  had  meant  them  to  ap 
pear  as  crimes — and  he  had  succeeded  so  well  that  the  Gray 
Seal's  name,  execrated,  was  a  synonym  for  the  most  callous, 
dangerous,  and  unscrupulous  criminal  of  the  age ! 

He  was  gasping  for  breath  as  finally,  making  for  the  side 
door,  he  darted  into  the  alleyway  that  flanked  the  Sanctuary. 
What  story  would  the  Magpie  tell?  Not  the  truth,  of  course 
— that  would  let  the  Magpie  in  for  what  had  happened  that 
night,  for  the  Magpie  must  be  well  aware  that  he  had  shot 
at  least  one  of  the  two  men  in  that  room.  But  the  truth 
wasn't  necessary ;  it  was  foreign,  and  had  no  bearing  on  the 
one  outstanding  fact — the  Gray  Seal  was  Larry  the  Bat.  At 
the  present  moment  the  Magpie  had  a  double  incentive  for 
"  getting  "  the  Gray  Seal — the  Gray  Seal  was  the  only  one 
who  could  prove  murder  against  him  that  night  in  the  La- 
Salle  mansion.  And  afterwards,  when  the  police  version  of 
the  affair  was  made  public,  the  Magpie,  to  save  himself, 
would  be  careful  enough  to  do  or  say  nothing  to  contradict 
v<  Henry  LaSalle's  "  confession ! 

Larry  the  Bat  slipped  in  through  the  door,  halted  there, 
listened ;  and  then  began  to  mount  the  rickety  stairs,  with  his 
silent  tread.  At  the  top  he  paused  again.  Nothing — no 
sound!  They  were  not  here  yet — so  far  he  was  in  time! 
He  stepped  to  the  Sanctuary  door,  unlocked  it,  passed  into 
the  squalid,  miserable  room  that  had  harboured  him  for  so 
long  as  Larry  the  Bat,  locked  the  door  behind  him,  crossed 
quickly  to  the  window  to  make  sure  that  the  shutters  were 
closed — and  then,  for  the  first  time,  as  the  gray  light  streaked 
in  through  the  interstices,  he  was  conscious  that  it  was  al 
ready  dawn.  So  much  the  more  need  for  haste  then! 

He  whipped  out  his  revolver  and  laid  it  at  his  hand  on  the 
dilapidated  table ;  then  the  flooring  in  the  corner  was  up  in 
an  instant,  and  he  began  to  strip  off  the  rags  of  Larry  the 
Bat.  Boots,  mismated  socks,  the  torn,  patched  trousers,  the 
greasy  flannel  shirt,  the  threadbare  coat,  the  nondescript 
slouch  hat  were  thrown  in  a  pile  on  the  floor ;  and  with  them, 


462     THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

from  their  hiding-place,  the  grease  paints  and  heterogeneous 
collection  of  make-up  accessories.  This  done,  he  began  to 
slip  on  the  clothes  of  Jimmie  Dale ;  and,  when  half  dressed, 
turned  to  the  table  again  to  remove  the  characteristic  grime, 
stain,  and  paint  of  Larry  the  Bat  from  face,  hands,  wrists, 
throat,  and  neck.  This  was  a  longer,  more  arduous  task. 
He  reached  for  the  cracked  pitcher  to  pour  more  water  into 
the  basin — and,  snatching  up  his  revolver  instead,  whirled 
to  face  the  door. 

Some  one  was  outside!  He  had  caught  the  creak  of  a 
footstep  upon  the  stairs.  In  a  flash  he  was  across  the  room 
and  crouched  by  the  door.  Yes,  the  step  was  nearer  now — 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs — on  the  landing.  His  revolver  lifted, 
holding  a  steady  bead  on  the  door  panel.  And  then  there 
came  a  low  voice : 

"Jimmie!  Jimmie!  Are  you  there?  Quick,  Jimmie! 
Are  you  there  ?  " 

The  Tocsin  !  What  was  she  doing  here !  Why  had  he  not 
warned  her  up  there  on  the  avenue,  fool  that  he  was,  that 
of  all  places  she  was  to  keep  away  from  here ! 

She  slipped  into  the  room  as  he  unlocked  the  door. 

"  They're  coming,  Jimmie !  "  she  panted  breathlessly. 
"  There's  not  an  instant  to  lose !  Listen !  When  the  Magpie 
ran  from  the  house,  I  ran  with  him — but  it " — she  tried  to 
smile — "  it  wasn't  to  obey  you,  to  run  away — I  had  made  up 
my  mind  I  wouldn't  do  that — it  was  to  find  out  from  him 
what  had  happened.  He  told  me  you  were  the  Gray  Seal. 
He  did  not  suspect  me.  He  thinks  you  were  no  more  than 
}ust  Larry  the  Bat  to  me,  as  you  were  to  everybody  else. 
He  went  straight  to  Chicago  Ike's  gambling  rooms  and  found 
the  Skeeter's  gang  there — you  know  them,  Red  Mose,  the 
Midget,  Harve  Thorns,  and  the  Skeeter — you  remember  your 
fight  with  them  over  old  Luddy's  diamonds !  Well,  they 
have  not  forgotten,  either!  They  are  on  their  way  here, 
now !  The  news  that  you  are  the  Gray  Seal  is  travelling  like 
lightning  all  through  the  underworld — there  will  be  a  mob 
here  on  the  Skeeter's  heels.  So,  Jimmie — quick !  Run !  " 

Run!     Half  Larry  the  Bat,  half  Jimmie  Dale — and  rui  J 


"DEATH  TO  THE  GRAY  SEAL!"         468 

In  another  five  minutes,  perhaps — yes.  But  there  probably 
would  not  be  five  minutes — and  she — if  she  were  found 
here! 

"  Yes,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I'll  get  away  in  a  moment.  You 
go  at  once.  I'll  " — he  was  smiling  at  her  reassuringly — "  I'll 
meet  you  at " 

She  looked  at  him  then  for  an  instant — interrupting  him 
quickly,  as  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I  didn't  notice,  Jimmie.  You  cannot  go  like  that — can 
you  ?  It  would  be  even  worse  than  being  caught  as  Larry  the 
Bat.  Hurry  then — I  am  not  going  without  you." 

"  No !  "  he  said.  "  Go  now !  Go  at  once,  Marie — while 
you  can.  You  have  risked  your  life  as  it  is  to  come  here 
and  tell  me  this.  For  God's  sake,  go  now !  " 

The  great,  brown  eyes  were  smiling  bravely  through  a 
sudden  mist.  She  shook  her  head  again. 

"  Not  without  you,  Jimmie." 

It  brought  a  fierce,  wild  throb  of  joy  upon  him — and  then 
a  cold,  sickening  fear. 

"  Listen !  "  he  cried  out  desperately.  "  You  must  go  now  1 
You  cannot  take  any  chances  now,  Marie.  Everything  is 
right  for  you.  That  man  who  posed  as  your  uncle  is  dead — • 
the  leader  of  the  Crime  Club  is  dead.  Don't  you  understand 
what  that  means!  You  have  only  to  be  Marie  LaSalle 
again  and  claim  your  own.  I  cannot  tell  you  all  now — there's 
no  time.  That  house  was  the  Crime  Club  itself.  The  police 
will  get  them  all.  Don't  you  see !  Don't  you  see !  Every 
thing  is  clear  for  you  now — and  now  go !  Go — you  must 
go!" 

She  was  staring  at  him,  a  strange  wonder  in  her  face. 

"  Clear !  All  clear — for  me !  I — I  can  go  back  to — to 
my  own  life  again !  "  It  was  as  though  she  were  whispering 
some  amazing  thing  of  unbelievable  joy  to  herself. 

"  Yes! "  he  cried  out  again.    "  Yes !    But  go — go,  Marie !  * 

But  now,  for  answer,  suddenly  she  reached  out  and  took 
the  key  from  the  door  and  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  her  dress. 

"We  will  go  together.  Jirnmie — or  not  at  all,"  she  said 


464    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

simply.  "  We  are  wasting  precious  moments.  Hurry  and 
dress !" 

He  hesitated  miserably.  What  could  he  do — if  she  would 
not  go !  And  it  was  true — the  moments  were  flying.  Bet 
ter,  rather  than  futile  argument,  to  use  them  as  she  said. 
There  was  still  a  chance !  Why  not !  Five  minutes !  He 
could  do  better  than  that !  He  must  do  better  than  that ! 

Without  a  word,  he  ran  back  across  the  room.  In  frantic 
haste,  from  face,  hands,  wrists,  and  neck  came  the  stain. 
There  was  still  time.  She  was  standing  there  by  the  door, 
listening.  She,  the  Tocsin,  she  whom  he  loved,  she  who,  all 
through  the  years  that  had  gone,  had  been  so  strangely  elu 
sive  and  yet  so  intimately  a  part  of  his  life,  she  was  stand 
ing  there  now,  here  with  him — in  peril  with  every  second 
that  passed ! 

He  had  only  to  slip  on  his  coat  and  vest  fiow — and  make  a 
bundle  of  Larry  the  Bat's  things  on  the  floor,  so  tha*  Vie 
could  carry  them  away  to  destroy  them.  He  stooped  to 
gather  up  the  clothes — and  straightened  suddenly — and 
jumped  toward  the  door  again. 

"  They  are  coming,  Jimmie ! "  she  called,  in  a  low  voice 

But  he  had  already  heard  them — the  stairs  were  creak- 
Ing  loudly  under  the  tread  of  many  feet.  He  pushed  the 
Tocsin  hurriedly  back  against  the  wall  at  the  side  of  the  door. 

"  Stand  there !  "  he  said,  under  his  breath.  "  Out  of  the 
line  of  fire !  Don't  move !  " 

There  was  a  rush  against  the  door — and  then  a  voice 
growled : 

"  Aw,  cut  dat  out !  Wot  do  youse  want  to  do — scare  him 
away  by  bustin'  it!  Pick  de  lock,  an'  we'll  lay  for  him  in 
side  till  he  shows  up." 

It  was  the  Skeeter's  voice.  The  Skeeter  and  his  gang — 
the  worst  apaches  in  the  city  of  New  York!  Professional 
assassins,  death  contractors,  he  had  called  them — and  the 
lowest  bidders!  A  man's  life  any  time  for  twenty-five  dol 
lars!  No,  they  were  not  likely  to  forget  the  affair  of  the 
pushcart  man,  to  forget  old  Luddy  and  his  diamonds,  to  for- 


"DEATH  TO  THE  GRAY  SEAL!"         465 

gtt — the  Gray  Seal!  And  they  were  only  the  vanguard  of 
what  was  to  come! 

Some  one  was  working  at  the  lock  now.  There  was  one 
way  to  stop  that.  It  would  not  take  them  long  to  find 
out  that  he  was  there  once  the  door  was  opened!  Better 
know  it  with  the  door  shut!  Jimmie  Dale  lifted  his  revol 
ver  coolly  and  fired  through  the  panel. 

A  burst  of  yells  answered  the  shot;  and  among  them, 
high  above  the  others,  the  Magpie's  scream: 

"  We  got  him !    We  got  him !    He's  dere  now !  " 

And  then  it  seemed  that  pandemonium  broke  loose — there 
was  a  volley  of  shots,  the  bullets  splintering  through  the 
door  panels  as  from  a  machine  gun,  so  fast  they  came — and 
then  another  rush  against  the  door. 

Flat  on  the  floor,  but  well  back  and  to  one  side,  Jimmie 
Dale  fired  steadily — again  and  again. 

Came  screams  of  pain,  yells,  and  oaths — and  they  fell 
back  from  the  door. 

And  now  from  above,  from  overhead,  came  tumult — • 
windows  thrown  up,  the  stamp  of  feet,  cries  of  fright. 
And  from  the  street,  a  low,  sullen  roar.  The  underworld 
was  gathering  fast! 

Once  more  the  rush  upon  the  door — and  Jimmie  Dale, 
a  grim,  twisted  smile  upon  his  lips,  emptied  his  revolver  into 
the  panels.  Once  more  they  fell  back — and  then  there  came 
the  Skeeter's  voice,  snarling  like  an  infuriated  beast: 

"  He'll  get  de  lot  of  us  like  dis !  Cut  it  out !  Besides, 
we'll  have  de  bulls  down  here  in  a  minute — an'  he's  our 
meat,  not  theirs.  Dey'd  be  too  damned  soft  wid  him — dey'd 
only  send  him  to  de  chair.  Youse  chase  upstairs,  Mose,  an' 
pass  de  word  to  beat  it — an'  beat  it  quick.  We'll  burn  de 
skunk  out — dat's  wot.  An'  de  bulls  can  stand  alongside  an' 
watch,  if  dey  likes — but  he's  our  meat." 

Jimmie  Dale  did  not  dare  to  look  at  the  Tocsin's  face. 
Mechanically  he  refilled  the  magazine  of  his  automatic— 
and  lay  there,  waiting.  The  roar  from  the  street  grew 
louder.  They  seemed  to  be  fighting  out  there,  as  though  an 
inadequate  number  of  police  were  trying  to  disperse  a  mob 


466     THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

• — and  not  succeeding!  Pretty  soon,  with  the  riot  call  in, 
there  would  probably  be  a  battle — for  the  Gray  Seal !  Sub 
lime  irony !  It  was  death  at  the  hands  of  either  one ! 

Children  whimpered  on  the  stairs  outside,  men  swore, 
women  cried,  feet  shuffled  hurriedly  by  as  the  tenement 
emptied.  Occasionally,  a  pertinent  invitation  to  him  to  rev 
main  where  he  was,  there  was  a  vicious  rip  through  the 
panel,  and  the  drumming  whir  of  a  bullet  flying  through  the 
room.  And  then  a  curious,  ominous  crackling  sound — and 
then  the  smell  of  smoke. 

Jimmie  Dale  stood  up,  his  face  drawn  and  haggard.  The 
tenement  would  go  like  matchwood,  burn  like  a  bonfire, 
with  any  kind  of  a  start — and  there  was  no  doubt  about  the 
start!  The  Skeeter,  the  Magpie,  and  the  rest  would  have 
seen  that  it  had  headway  enough  to  serve  their  purpose  be 
fore  either  firemen  or  police  could  thwart  them.  He,  Jim 
mie  Dale,  could  take  his  choice:  walk  out  into  a  bullet,  or 
stay  there  and — he  smiled  miserably  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
pile  of  Larry  the  Bat's  clothing  on  the  floor.  There  was  no 
longer  need  to  worry  about  its  destruction — the  fire  would 
take  care  of  that  only  too  well !  And  then  a  low,  bitter  cry 
came  to  his  lips,  and  he  clenched  his  hands.  If  it  were  only 
himself — only  himself!  He  crossed  to  the  Tocsin  and 
caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  my  God— Marie !  "  he  faltered. 

The  cape  and  hood  had  fallen  from  her,  and  with  the 
hood  had  fallen  the  gray-streaked  hair  of  Silver  Mag — and 
now  as  she  smiled  at  him  it  was  from  a  face  that  was  very 
beautiful  and  very  brave  and  very  full  of  tenderness. 

And  he  held  her  there — and  neither  spoke. 

It  seeped  in  under  the  threshold  of  the  door,  it  came  from 
everywhere,  filling  the  room — the  black,  strangling  smoke. 
Outside  in  the  hall  all  was  silence  now — save  for  that  crackle 
of  flame  that  grew  in  volume,  that  came  now  in  quick,  sharp 
reports,  like  revolver  shots.  From  out  in  the  street  swelled 
a  cry :  "  Death  to  the  Gray  Seal !  "  Then  the  clang  of 
bells,  the  roar  and  rattle  of  fire  apparatus,  strident  voices 


"DEATH  TO  THE  GRAY  SEAL!"         467 

bellowing  orders,  and  the  crowd  again,  blood  hungry: 
"  Death  to  the  Gray  Seal !  " 

There  was  a  chance,  just  one — if  the  fire  had  no  headway 
along  the  upper  end  of  the  landing — and  if  they  had  not 
thought  to  set  a  watch  for  him  above!  They — the  Magpie, 
the  Skeeter,  and  his  gang — must  have  been  driven  even  out 
of  the  house  now  by  the  smoke  and  flame. 

"  Give  me  the  key,  I  am  going  to  open  the  door,  Marie," 
he  said  quietly.  "  Cover  your  face  with  a  handkerchief,  any 
thing,  and  run  to  the  left  to  the  next  flight  of  stairs.  There 
are  two  flats  above  this — we'll  make  the  roof  if  we  can. 
Now — are  you  ready  ?  " 

It  was  an  instant  before  she  answered,  an  instant  in  which 
she  lifted  her  face  to  his,  and  held  his  face  between  her  two 
hands — and  then: 

"  I  am  ready,  Jimmie." 

He  flung  open  the  door,  his  arm  around  her  to  help  her 
forward — and  instinctively,  with  a  cry,  fell  back  for  a  mo 
ment.  With  the  inrush  of  the  draft  poured  ttie  smoke,  and 
through  it,  lurid,  yellow,  showed  the  flames  leaping  from  the 
stair  well. 

And  then  all  was  blind  madness.  Together  they  ran. 
At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  fell,  recovered  herself,  stag 
gered  up  another — and  fell  again.  He  caught  her  up  in 
his  arms  and,  staggering  now  as  she  had  staggered,  went  on. 
His  lungs  seemed  to  be  bursting.  His  limbs  grew  weak  and 
trembled  under  him.  He  could  not  see  or  breathe.  The 
nauseating  fumes  suffocated  him,  bringing  an  intolerable 
agony.  He  gained  the  first  landing  above.  There  was  one 
more — one  more!  If  he  could  only  rest  here  for  a  moment! 
Yes,  that  was  it — rest.  It  wasn't  so  bad  here  now.  She 
stirred  in  his  arms,  struggled  to  her  feet — and  he  was  help 
ing  her  on  again,  and  up  the  next  flight  of  stairs. 

And  suddenly  he  found  himself  laughing  in  hysteria — for 
they  were  climbing  a  half  stair,  half  ladderway  at  the  end  of 
the  upper  landing,  and  the  open  skylight  was  above  them, 
and  they  were  drinking  in  the  pure,  fresh  air — and  now  they 
were  out  upon  the  roof,  and  the  roar  from  the  street  was 


468    THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JIMMIE  DALE 

in  their  ears,  like  the  roar  of  great  waters  from  some  canon 
far  below.  Jimmie  Dale  tried  to  speak,  and  found  his  lips 
were  cracked  and  dry.  He  wet  them  with  his  tongue. 

"  Don't  stand  up — we'd  be  seen — crawl"  he  mumbled 
hoarsely. 

It  took  a  long  time — over  one  roof,  and  then  another. 
*nd  yet  another — and  then  through  the  skylight  of  a  tene 
ment  whose  occupants  were  either  craning  from  the  front 
windows,  or  were  on  the  street  below.  It  was,  perhaps, 
half  an  hour — and  then  they,  too,  were  standing  in  the  street, 
and  all  about  them  the  crowd  was  shouting  in  wild  excfte- 
ment. 

Up  the  block,  inside  the  fire  lines,  the  Sanctuary  was  blaz 
ing  furiously — and  now  suddenly  the  wall  seemed  to  bulge 
outward.  It  brought  a  yell  from  the  crowd: 

"  Death  to  the  Gray  Seal !  " 

She  pulled  at  his  arm. 

"  Let  us  get  away !  Let  us  get  away,  Jimmie !  "  she  whim 
pered  frantically. 

A  strange  smile  was  on  Jimmie  Dale's  lips. 

"  We're  safe  now — for  always,"  he  whispered  back. 
"  Look ! " 

The  Sanctuary  wall  bulged  farther  outward,  seemed  to 
hang  an  instant  hesitant  in  mid-air — and  fell  with  a  mighty 
crash. 

The  Gray  Seal  was  dead! 


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THE   BEST   OF  RECENT   FICTION 


Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale.     Frank  L.   Packard. 

Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     A.  Conan   Doyle. 

Affair  in  Duplex  9B,  The.     William  Johnston. 

Affinities  and  Other  Stories.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

After  House,  The.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

After  Noon.     Susan  Ertz. 

Alcatraz.    Max  Brand. 

Amateur  Gentleman.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Anne's  House  of  Dreams.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Anne  of  the  Island.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 

And  They  Lived  Happily  Ever  After.    Meredith  Nicholson. 

Are  All  Men  Alike,  and  The  Lost  Titian.    Arthur  Stringer. 

At  the  Foot  of  the  Rainbow.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Auction  Block,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Aw  Hell!     Clarke  Venable. 


Bab:  a  Sub-Deb.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Bar-20.     Clarence   E.  Mulford. 

Bar-20  Days.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar  20  Rides  Again,  The.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar-20  Three.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Barrier,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Bars  of  Iron,  The.     Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Bat  Wing.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Bellamy  Trial,  The.     Frances  Noyes  Hart. 

Beloved  Traitor,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Beloved  Woman,  The.    Kathleen  Norris. 

Beltane  the  Smith.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Benson  Murder  Case,  The.    S.  S.  Van  Dine. 

Big  Brother.    Rex  Beach. 

Big  Mogul,  The.     Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Big  Timber.    Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 

Bill— The  Sheik.    A.  M.  Williamson. 

Black  Abbot,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Black  Bartlemy's  Treasure.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Black  Buttes.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Black  Flemings,  The.     Kathleen  Norris. 

Black  Oxen.     Gertrude  Atherton. 

Blatchington  Tangle,  The.     G.  D.  H.  &  Margaret  Cole, 

Blue  Car  Mystery,  The.     Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Blue  Castle,  The.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Blue  Hand.    Edgar  Wallace. 

•Blue  Jay,  The.     Max  Brand. 

Bob,  Son  of  Battle.    Alfred  Ollivant. 

Box  With  Broken  Seals.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 


THE   BEST   OF   RECENT   FICTION 


Brass.    Charles  G.  Norris. 
Bread.     Charles  G.  Norris. 

Breaking  Point,  The.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Bright  Shawl,  The.     Joseph  Hergesheimer. 
Bring  Me  His  Ears.     Clarence   E.  Mulford. 
Broad  Highway,  The.    Jeffery  Farnol. 
Broken  Waters.     Frank  L.  Packard. 
Bronze  Hand,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 
Brood  of  the  Witch  Queen.     Sax  Rohmer. 
Brown  Study,  The.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Buck  Peters,  Ranchman.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Bush  Rancher,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 
Buster,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 
Butterfly.    Kathleen  Norris. 

Cabbages  and  Kings.     O.  Henry. 

Callahans  and  the  Murphys.     Kathleen  Norris. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Cape  Cod  Stories.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  ErL    Joseph  C.   Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cardigan.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Carnac's  Folly.    Sir  Gilbert  Parker. 

Case  and  the  Girl,  The.    Randall  Parrish. 

Case  Book  of  Sherlock  Holmes,  The.    A.  Conan  Doyle, 

Cat's  Eye,  The.     R.  Austin  Freeman. 

Celestial  City,  The.     Baroness  Orczy. 

Certain  People  of  Importance.     Kathleen  Norris, 

Cherry  Square.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Child  of  the  North.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Child  of  the  Wild.     Edison  Marshall. 

Club  of  Masks,  The.     Allen  Upward. 

Cinema  Murder,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Clouded  Pearl,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Clue  of  the  New  Pin,  The.    Edgar  Wallace. 

Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Coming  of  Cosgrpve,  The.     Laurie  Y.  Erskine. 

Comrades  of  PeriL     Randall  Parrish. 

Conflict.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 

Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.     Booth  Tarkington. 

Constant  Nymph,  The.    Margaret  Kennedy. 

Contraband.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 

Corsican  Justice.    J.  G.  Sarasin. 

Cottonwood  Gulch.     Clarence   E.  Mulford. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 


THE   BEST   OF  RECENT   FICTION 


Cross  Trails.    Harold  Bindloss. 

Crystal  Cup,  The.     Gertrude  Atherton. 

Cup  of  Fury,  The.    Rupert  Hughes. 

Curious  Quest,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Cytherea.    Joseph  Hergesheimer. 

Cy  Whittaker's  Place.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Dan  Barry's  Daughter.     Max  Brand. 

Dancing  Star.     Berta  Ruck. 

Danger.     Ernest  Poole. 

Danger  and  Other  Stories.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Daughter  of  the  House,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Deep  in  the  Hearts  of  Men.    Mary  E.  Waller. 

Dead  Ride  Hard,  The.    Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Deep  Seam,  The.    Jack  Bethea. 

Delight.    Mazo  de  la  Roche,  author  of  "Jalna." 

Depot  Master,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Desert  Healer.    E.  M.  Hull. 

Desire  of  His  Life  and  Other  Stories.    Ethel  M. 

Destiny.     Rupert  Hughes. 

Devil's  Paw,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheira. 

Devil  of  Pei-Ling,  The.     Herbert  Asbury. 

Devonshers,  The.    Honore  Willsie  Morrow. 

Diamond  Thieves,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Door  of  Dread,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Door  with  Seven  Locks,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Doors  of  the  Night    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Dope.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Double  Traitor,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Downey  of  the  Mounted.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Dr.  Nye.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Dream  Detective.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Emily  Climbs.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 
Emily  of  New  Moon.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 
Empty  Hands.     Arthur  Stringer. 
Enchanted  Canyon,  The.     Honore  Willsie. 
Enemies  of  Women.    Vicente  Blasco  Ibanez. 
Evil  Shepherd,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Exile  of  the  Lariat,  The.     Honoro  Willsie. 
Extricating  Obadiah.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Eyes  of  the  World,  The.    Harold  Beil  Wright 

Face  Cards.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Faith  of  Our  Fathers.     Dorothy  Walworth  Carman- 
Fair  Harbor.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 


THE   BEST  OF  RECENT    FICTION 

Feast  of  the  Lanterns,  The.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Feathers  Left  Around.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Fire  Brain.     Max  Brand. 

Fire  Tongue.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Flaming  Jewel,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Flowing  Gold.     Rex  Beach. 

Forbidden  Door,  The.     Herman  Landon. 

Forbidden  Trail,  The.     Honore  Willsie. 

Four   Horsemen  of  the   Apocalypse,   The.     Vicente    Blasco 

Ibanez. 

Four  Million,  The.     O.  Henry. 
Foursquare.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Four  Stragglers,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 
Fourteenth  Key,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 
From  Now  On.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Further  Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 
Furthest  Fury,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Gabriel  Samara,  Peacemaker,    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Galusha  the  Magnificent.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Gaspards  of  Pine  Croft.    Ralph  Connor. 

Gift  of  the  Desert    Randall  Parrish. 

Glitter.     Katharine  Brush. 

God's  Country  and  the  Woman.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Going  Some.     Rex  Beach. 

Gold  Girl,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Golden  Beast,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Golden  Ladder,  The.     Major  Rupert  Hughes. 

Golden  Road,  The.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Golden  Scorpion,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Goose  Woman,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.     Frank  L.  Packard^. 

Great  Impersonation,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Great  Moment,  The.     Elinor  Glyn. 

Great  Prince  Shan,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Green  Archer,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Green  Dolphin,  The.    Sara  Ware  Bassett. 

Green  Eyes  of  Bast,  The.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Green  Goddess,  The.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Green  Timber.     Harold   Bindloss. 

Grey  Face.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Gun  Brand,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Gun  Gospel.    W.  D.  Hoffman. 

Hairy  Arm,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 
H»nd  of  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohmer, 


THE   BEST   OF  RECENT   FICTION 


Hand  of  Peril,  The.     Arthur  Stringer. 

Harriet  and  the  Piper.     Kathleen  Norris. 

Harvey  Garrard's  Crime.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Hawkeye,  The.    Herbert  Quick. 

Head    of   the    House   of    Coombe,   The.     Frances    Hodgsoc 

Burnett. 

Heart  of  Katie  O'Doone,  The.     Leroy  Scott. 
Heart  of  the  Desert.     Honore  Willsie. 
Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.    John  Fox,  Jr. 
Heart  of  the  Range,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 
Heart  of  the  Sunset.     Rex  Beach. 
Helen  of  the  Old  House.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 
Her  Mother's  Daughter.     Nalbro  Bartley. 
Her  Pirate  Partner.     Berta  Ruck. 
Hidden  Places,  The.     Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 
Hidden  Trails.     William  Patterson  White. 
High  Adventure,  The.     Jeffery  Farnol. 
Hildegarde.     Kathleen  Norris. 
His  Official  Fiancee.     Berta  Ruck. 
Honor  of  the  Big  Snows.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 
Hopalong  Cassidy.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Hopalong  Cassidy  Returns.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Hopalong  Cassidy's  Protege.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Horseshoe  Robinson.    John  P.  Kennedy. 
House  of  Adventure,  The.    Warwick  Deeping,  author  of  "So* 

rell  and  Son" 

House  of  Intrigue,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 
Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame.     Victor  Hugo. 
Hustler  Joe  and  Other  Stories.    Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Illiterate  Digest,  The,    Will  Rogers. 

Immortal  Girl,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Inn  of  the  Hawk  and  Raven,  The.    George  Barr  McCutcheoi*. 

In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.     Berta  Ruck. 

In  a  Shantung  Garden.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Inevitable  Millionaires,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Inverted  Pyramid.     Bertrand  Sinclair. 

Invisible  Woman,  The.     Herbert  Quick. 

Iron  Trail,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Isle  of  Retribution,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

It  Happened  in  Peking.    Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

I  Want  To  Be  a  Lady.     Maximilian  Foster. 

Jacob's  Ladder.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 


THE   BEST  OF  RECENT   FICTION 

Jean  of  the  Lazy  A.    B.  M.  Bower. 

Jimmie  Dale  and  the  Phantom  Clue.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Johnny  Nelson.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Judith  of  the  Godless  Valley.     Honore  Willsie. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.     Ethel  M'.  Dell. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.     Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Keziah  Coffin.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Kilmeny  of  the  Orchard.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Kindling  and  Ashes.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Kingdom  of  the  Blind.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

King  By  Night,  A.     Edgar  Wallace. 

King  of  the  Wilderness.     Albert  Cooper  Allen. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Kneel  To  The  Prettiest.    Berta  Ruck. 

Knights  of  the  Desert.    W.  D.  Hoffman. 

Labels.     A.  Hamilton  Gibbs. 

Ladies  of  Lyndon,  The.    Margaret  Kennedy. 

Land  of  Forgotten  Men.    Edison  Marshall. 

Land  of  Mist,  The.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Last  Trail,  The.     Zane  Grey. 

Leap  Year  Girl,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Leave  It  to  Psmith.    P.  G.  Wodehouse. 

Letters   of   a    Self-Made    Diplomat   to   His   President.      Will 

Rogers. 

Light  That  Failed,  The.    Rudyard  Kipling. 
Limping  Sheriff,  The.     Arthur  Preston. 
Little  Pardner.     Eleanor  H.  Porter. 
Little  Red  Foot,  The.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Little  Ships.     Kathleen  Norris. 
Little  White  Hag,  The.    Francis  Seeding. 
Locked  Book,  The.    Frank  L.  Packard. 
Lone  Hand,  The.    Joseph  B.  Ames. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.    Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Long  Live  the  King.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Loring  Mystery,  The.     Jeffery  Farnol. 
Lost  World,  The.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Loudon  from  Laramie.     Joseph  B.  Ames. 
Luck  of  the  Kid,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Lucky  in  Love.     Berta  Ruck. 
Lucretia  Lombard.     Kathleen  Norris. 
Lydia  of  the  Pines.     Honore  Willsie. 
Lynch  Lawyers.    William  Patterson  White. 

,Madame  Claire.     Susan  Ertz. 


THE   BEST   OF   RECENT   FICTION 


Major,  The.     Ralph  Connor. 

Man  and  Maid.     Elinor  Glyn. 

Man  from  Bar-20,  The.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Man  from  El  Paso,  The.    W.  D.  Hoffman. 

Man  from  Smiling  Pass,  The.    Eliot  H.  Robinson. 

Man  They  Couldn't  Arrest,  The.    Austin  J.  Small. 

Man  They  Hanged,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Mare  Nostrum  (Our  Sea).    Vicente  Blasco  Ibanez. 

Martin  Conisby's  Vengeance.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Mary-'Gusta.     Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Master  of  Man.    Hall  Caine. 

Master  of  the  Microbe,  The.    Robert  W.  Service. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Men  Marooned.     George  Marsh. 

Michael's  Evil  Deeds.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Mine  With  the  Iron  Door.     Harold  Bell  Wright 

Mind  of  a  Minx,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Miracle.     Clarence  B.  Kelland. 

Mischief  Maker,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Blake's  Husband.     Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Money,  Love  and  Kate.    Eleanor  H.  Potter. 

Money  Moon,  The.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

More  Tish.     Marv  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sen.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Mr.  Pratt.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratt's  Patients.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Wu.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Best  GirL     Kathleen  Norris. 

My  Lady  of  the  North.     Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  South,     Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  of  the  Sycamore.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Mystery  Road,  The.  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Ne'er-Do- Well,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Net,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Night  Hawk.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Night  Horseman,  The.    Max  Brand. 

Night  Operator,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Nina.     Susan  Ertz. 

No.  17.     J.  Jefferson  Fairjeon. 

Nobody's  Man.    E,  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

No  Defence.     Gilbert  Parker. 

North.    James  B.  Hendryx. 


THE   BEST   OF  RECENT   FICTION 


Oak  and  Iron.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Obstacle  Race,  The.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Odds,  and  Other  Stories.     Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Old  Home  Town,  The.     Rupert  Hughes. 

Oliver  October.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

On  the  Rustier  Trail.     Robert  Ames  Bennet 

Orphan,  The.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Owner  of  the  Lazy  D.     William  Patterson  White. 

Padlocked.    Rex  Beach. 

Painted  Ponies.    Alan  Le  May. 

Paradise  Bend.    William  Patterson  White. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Passer-By,  The,  and  Other  Stories.     Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Passionate  Quest,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail,  The.    Ralph  Connor, 

Pawned.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Pawns  Count,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Pearl  Thief,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Peregrine's  Progress.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Peter  Ruff  and  the  Double  Four.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Philopena.     Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Pine  Creek  Ranch.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Poisoned  Paradise,  The.     Robert  W.  Service. 

Pollyanna;  "The  Glad  Book."     (Trade  Mark.)     Eleanor  H. 

Porter. 
Pollyanna  of  the  Orange  Blossoms.    (Trade  Mark.)    Harriet 

Lummis  Smith. 

Poor  Man's  Rock.     Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 
Poor  Wise  Man,  A.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Portygee,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Possession.     Mazo  de  la  Roche,  author  of  "Jalna." 
Postmaster,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Power  of  the  Glory,  The.     Gilbert  Parker. 
Prairie  Flowers.     James  B.  Hendryx. 
Prairie  Mother,  The.     Arthur  Stringer. 
Prairie  Wife,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 
Prillilgirl.     Carolyn  Wells. 
Prodigal  Son.     Hall  Caine. 
Profiteers,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Progressive  Marriage.    Bonnie  Busch. 
Promise,  The.    J.  B.  Hendryx. 
Purple  Mask,  The.    Louise  Jordan  Miln. 
Purple  Mist,  The.    Gladys  Edson  Locke. 

Queer  Judson,     Joseph   C.   Lincoln. 


THE  BEST   OF  RECENT   FICTION 

Quest  of  the  Sacred  Slipper,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 
Quill's  Window.     George   Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rainbow's  End,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Rainbow  Valley.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Re-Creation  of  Brian  Kent,  The.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Red  and  Black.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Lamp.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Red  Ledger,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Red  Pepper  Burns.     Grace  S.   Richmond. 

Red  Pepper's  Patients.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  of  the  Redfields,  The.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Road,  The.    Hugh  Pendexter. 

Red  Sky  at  Morning.    Margaret  Kennedy. 

Renegade.     Arthur  O.  Friel. 

Return  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Rhoda  Fair.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 

Riddle  of  Three  Way  Creek,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Rider  of  the  'Golden  Bar.     William  Patterson  White. 

Rilla  of  Ingleside.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Ringer,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Rivers  to  Cross.     Roland  Pertwee. 

Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Romantic  Comedians,  The.    Ellen  Glasgow. 

Romeo  in  Moon  Village.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rose  of  the  World.     Kathleen  Norris. 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    Grace  S.  Richmond, 

Rowforest.     Anthony   Pryde. 

Ruben  and  Ivy  Sen.    Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Rufus.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Rugged  Water.     Joseph  C.   Lincoln. 

Running  Special.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Rustlers'  Valley.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Sackcloth  and  Ashes.    E.  W.  Savi. 
Saint  Michael's  Gold.    H.  Bedford-Jones. 
Saint  of  the  Speedway.     Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Sea  Gull,  The.    Kathleen  Norris. 
Second  Violin,  The.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Seven  Sleepers,  The.    Francis  Beeding. 
Seventh  Man,  The.     Max  Brand. 
Seward's  Folly.     Edison  Marshall. 
Shadow  of  the  East,  The.     E.  M.  HtrfL 
Shavings.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Sheik,  The.    E.  M.  Hull. 


THE   BEST   OF   RECENT   FICTION 


Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.     Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Shepherds  of  the  Wilds.     Edison  Marshall. 

Sherry.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Sight  Unseen  and  the  Confession.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 

Silver  Horde,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Silver  Poppy,  The.     Arthur  Stringer. 

Sin  That  Was  His,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Singing  Heart,  The.     Florence  Ward. 

Sinister  Man,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Sir  John  Bering.     Je  fiery   Farnol. 

Sir  Percy  Hits  Back     Baroness  Orczy. 

Sisters-in-Law.     Gertrude  Atherton. 

Sir  or  Madam.     Berta  Ruck. 

Six  Days.     Eleanor  Glyn. 

Sixth  Commandment,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Skyline  of  Spruce,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

Slayer  of  Souls,  The.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Sleeper  of  the  Moonlit  Ranges,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

Small  Bachelor,  The.    P.  G.  Wodehouse. 

Smiles:  A  Rose  of  the  Cumberlands.    Eliot  H.  Robinson. 

Smiling  Pass.     Eliot  H.  Robinson. 

Snowdrift.     James  B.  Hendryx. 

Snowshoe  Trail,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

Son  of  His  Father,  A.     Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Sons  of  the  Sheik.     E.  H.  Hull. 

Sorrows  of  Satan.     Marie  Correlli. 

Soul  of  China  and  Other  Stories,  The.    Louis  Jordan  Miln. 

Soundings.     A.  Hamilton  Gibbs. 

Spaniard,  The.    Juanita  Savage. 

Spirit  of  Iron.     Harwood  Steele. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.     Zane  Gr«w. 

Spoilers,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Spooky  Hollow.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Steele  of  the  Royal  Mounted.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Stepchild  of  the  Moon.    Fulton  Oursler. 

Still  Jim.     Honore  Willsie. 

Stolen  Idols.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Story  Girl,  The.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Strange  Case  of  Cavendish.     Randall  Parrish. 

Strawberry  Acres.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Strength  of  the  Pines.     Edison  Marshall. 

Subconscious  Courtship.     Berta  Ruck. 

Substitute  Millionaire.     Hulbert  Footner. 

Sweet  Stranger.    Berta  Ruck. 


THE   BEST   OF  RECENT   FICTION 

Tales  of  Chinatown.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Tales  of  Secret  Egypt.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Temperamental  People.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Tenderfoots,  The.     Francis  Lynde. 

Terrible  People,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Terror  Keep.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Tetherstones.     Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Tex.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Texan,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Thankful's  Inheritance.     Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.     Harold  Bell  Wright 

Their  Yesterdays.     Harold  Bell  Wright 

Three  of  Hearts,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Three  Ships  in  Azure.     Irvin  Anthony. 

Tish.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

To  Him  That  Hath.     Ralph  Connor. 

Torrent,  The.     (Entre  Naranjos.)     Vicente  Blasco  Ibane* 

Trailin'.     Max   Brand. 

Treading  the  Wine  Press.     Ralph  Connor. 

Treasure.     Albert  Payson  Terhune. 

Trimmed  Lamp,  The.     O.  Henry. 

Triumph  of  John  Kars.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

T.  Tembarom.     Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

Tumble  weeds.    Hal  G.  Evarts. 

Twenty-fourth  of  June.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Twisted  Foot,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 

Two  Stolen  Idols.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Uncertain  Glory,  The.    By  Harriet  Lummis  Smith. 
Under  the  Country  Sky.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Under  the  Rainbow  Sky.     Alice  Ross  Colver. 
Uneasy  Street    Arthur  Somers  Roche. 
Unknown  Quantity,  The.     Ethel  M.  DelL 
Untamed,  The.     Max   Brand. 

Valley  of  Fear,  The.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Valley  of  Voices,  The.     George   Marsh. 

Vandemark's  Folly.    Herbert  Quick. 

Vanished  Messenger,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 

Vanity  Case,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Vanity  Fair.     Wm.  M.  Thackeray. 

Vickey  Van.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Viola  Gwyn.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Virgin  of  Yesterday,  A.    Dorothy  Speare. 

Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley.    Mary  Ellen  Chase. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

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